Stepbrother Biker (MC BDSM Dark Erotic Romance) (6 page)

The water floods what's left of her shoes, coming up to about her mid calf. It feels even colder standing in it than drinking it. And the jagged floor of rocks and pebbles beneath the surface does nothing to soothe her blistering feet.

Just as she sets one foot out of the stream she feels the sting of the whip hit the back of her calf. The pain shoots through her leg and she hollers loud enough to wake the dead. The whip wraps around her angle, pulling her body down to the ground, water splashing around her legs and waist. She winces as she reaches for the solid ground in front of her, trying her hardest to pull herself out of the shallow water and up to her feet. But the jagged rocks under her hands give her no leverage. She crawls forward, knowing he's right on her heels, the stones cutting into her bare knees.

“
You must want another lash at the pace you're going,” he taunts. “And I'd be more than happy to give it to you.”

Something in her snaps. “Fuck you!” she yells. With all her strength she pulls herself up to her feet, picking up a rock and hurling it straight in his direction. He ducks, but not fast enough to avoid it grazing the side of his head. He clutches he wound as she backs into the forest, clearly in shock.

I could've killed him.
Her heart nearly skips a beat upon realizing it. There's fire in his eyes now, and blood on his temple. He bounds across the stream at lightening speed and she darts back into the forest.

She wants to call a truce, to even offer herself up to him in order to end this madness. It may have started as a game, as some twisted version of role play but now they were both getting hurt and that frightened her. The second that rock left her hand fear struck her heart. Just a few inches to the right and it would have done a lot more damage than the flesh wound it left him with. He could've easily dropped dead in the creek, making her a murderer. It would've torn their family apart, devastated her mother and absolutely killed her stepfather. But most of all, she realizes that losing him would kill her too.

“
Cole, stop this! This is madness and we're both going to get hurt,” she begs him.

“
I've warned you enough times not to stop running, Kara.”

“
You can take me and do what you want with me but I'm not running or fighting you any more.”

“
You're pushing your luck.”

“
Or else what? You're going to send my diary to everyone? Fine, go right ahead and do it. Do it now for all I care. I'm done with this game. Done!”

His nostrils flare, his chest heaving through his wet tee. He's always been intimidating, but now he's unpredictable, and it's frightening. He lifts the whip and her whole body shudders, but she doesn't run or flinch. Instead she holds up a defiant chin to him, prompting him to do his worst.

“
You cant hit me with that forever, because I'm not moving. Not unless you want to kill me with it.”

His brows lower on his face, so low that she can barely see his eyes anymore. He throws the whip to the ground and lunges towards her, and she instinctively jumps back towards the tree.

“
This isn't over until I say it's over,” he growls. The weight of his body crashes against her, nearly knocking the wind out of her lungs. With a gasp escaping her lips, their mouths collide. There's nothing gentle about the kiss—it's rough and violent, possessive and needy. He takes her by the wrists and hoists them high above her head, pinning them and the rest of her body against the rough bark and forces his own leg between hers. His body is like a rock, smashed against her breasts, hips and thighs, holding her in place.

He fumbles wildly with her t-shirt, nearly ripping it and her bra off her body until her chest is bared to the empty forest around them. She cradles his head as his breath hits her chest, his hands pawing at her shorts, tugging them hard until they slide off. All that's left is her panties—he yanks hard until they rip, jutting her body along with them. She holds on to the tree for balance as he undresses her, scared yet enthralled with how much he wants to dominate her.

She's naked and still damp. His body heat is the only thing keeping off the chill, until he so unkindly pulls it away. And the second he's gone her body craves his like no other.

“
What are you doing?” she asks.

He reaches down and picks up his whip from the ground. “One last chance, Kara.”

Shit. And here she thought they were done with that, but he won't let it go. She covers her cold, naked body with her arms.
What have I done
, she wonders. He's snapped, and she's created a monster, she now realizes, and worst of all she has no idea how to bring him back from the edge.

“
Run!” he screams, pulling the whip back quickly and cracking it against her thigh. Out of everything she's endured today, the pain of the rocks beneath her feet, and nature scraping her skin, nothing hurts more than that whip.

She turns and darts away from him, her legs carrying her faster than she imagined possible. She holds her hands up in front of her face to block jagged branches that threaten to hit her on the cheek or in the eye. The rest of her bare body isn't so lucky, but she pays it no mind.

But the terrain only gets worse taking a sharp incline. Her legs feel like jello after sprinting for minutes on end. Her thigh muscles burn as she climbs, one foot sinking into the dirt and the other stepping on harsh rocks for balance, until one gives way beneath her and sends her tumbling to the ground.

She winces, feeling the shooting pain in her ankle; she knows it will slow her down, but she's endured worse over the last few days.

She glances behind her and sees Cole. He's only a handful of yards behind her, with that gap narrowing quickly. But everytime she tries to stand she ends up falling again.

The second she's finally able pull herself up he's only a few feet behind her. He reaches out for her, only managing to grab hold of her ankle. Its enough to bring her crashing back down to the ground.

“
You're fucking
min
e
now,” he hisses as he climbs on top of her. The weight of his body against her back makes it impossible to slide out from underneath him. She tries but he pushes her back down into the dirt. “Game over, sweetheart,” he whispers in her ear. She can feel him shift on top of her to unbuckle his jeans. She reaches out, stretching an arm as far in front of her as she can, only only to have him envelope her tiny wrist between his thick fingers, dragging her hand back and cupping his own hand over her mouth.

She squirms under the weight of his heavy body. “Isn't this just how you wanted it?” he speaks with lips pressed against her ear, “to be taken rough, relentlessly, in the middle of nowhere. Just like this, right?”

He quickly flips her over on to her back, pinning both of her wrists to the ground. “You want this. Say it,” he tempts her, but all she does is whimper. “Say it. Say it now!” he commands.

“
Yes,” she finally cries out, “I want this.” And she did. More than anything. More than she'd ever care to admit.

He splays her legs wide around him, pulling her closer to him by the hips. He holds her down to the ground and positions himself against her. He breaches her entrance with one swift thrust. A loud, high pitched cry escapes her throat—it's a cry of pain and a cry of relief.

He pins her wrists against the ground, one on each side of her head. His hips roll against her, drilling deeper and deeper inside, hitting that special spot that makes her body crave him even more. She desperately clasps her legs around him and bucks her hips to absorb his violent thrusts. “Fuck,” he calls out, accompanied by a dark and mangled grunt of his own. He fucks her harder, curling his fingers around the base of her neck to hold her firmly in place, slamming her body into the uneven soil beneath them. Their voices mingle, whimpers and groans echoing throughout the vast forest. She holds tight to his wrist as her whole body shudders beneath him. With her eyes closed she sees nothing but stars bursting against a pitch black canvas, a thousand times more vivid than the actual stars above their heads.

Her climax is explosive, and so is his; she knows because she can feel it, like there's a tether between his body and hers.

She goes limp beneath him and she's unsure how she'll recover from that, or if she can at all. Her breathing is hard and rugged as she lays across the jagged ground. When she finally opens her eyes she sees him, still hovering above her with one hand on her wrist and the other fist planted into the ground beside her. Every muscle in his thick arms are bulging and contracting, and he's breathing just as hard as she is. She wants to pull his head down against her chest and cradle him. She wants to run her hands through his soft, black hair and hold him until they both fall asleep.

She watches him, his skin looking paler than normal in the faint moonlight. There's nothing but anguish and raw, masculine beauty upon his face. He's showed her the worst of him; he's showed her his monster. She had been taken by the devil but now she wanted her angel.  But he didn't come.

He pulls away from her and falls back onto his heels. He pulls himself up from the ground with the help of a giant oak tree, turns away from her and leans against it, completely silent.

For a moment she wonders if he is going to abandon her. Just leave her out there, naked and alone, to fend for herself and find her own way back home. That would be an epic grand finale, she quickly realizes. As he begins to step away from her she begins to think it's true. He's pushed himself too far, or maybe she's pushed him too far. The monster inside of him had taken over. And for a split second, she thought she would never see her angel again.

But then he turns and strips off his jacket. He reaches down, wraps her in it and scoops her up into the safety of his arms. She automatically feels a pang of guilt for, once again, only seeing the worst in him.

Her step brother has two faces. That much she knows now more than ever.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, breathing out and resting her head against his chest. He carries her for what feels like a good 20 minutes. “I can walk the rest of the way I you want me to?” she says softly him. He shakes his head, hiking her up higher in his arms.

It feels good, being held by him. Her eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing his bare chest, as she lets her mind drift off.

Finally she hears a creak and opens her eyes. Much to her surprise they're not back at the car and the creaking sound is a door—a door to an unfamiliar cabin.

“
Where are we?” she asks, glancing around and taking in the interior of the cabin.

“
Remember when dad I used to take those fishing trips?” he says as he carries her through the house.

Oh, it all made sense now. They used to leave for the weekend several times a year for “bonding” trips. She never really paid much attention to it, she was just glad Cole was out of her hair. She squints to get a better look at the décor—the place is fairly spacious, and definitely has a masculine vibe to it, but it's comfortable and homey. All this time and she had no idea they owned a cabin.

He takes her through the bedroom and into the bathroom, setting her down in the old fashioned tub. The last thing she wanted was to leave his arms, but the second he puts her down she realizes just how dirty and grimy she actually is.

She watches him carefully as tests the water against the back of his hand before letting it fill the tub. She leans back as the warm water pools around her ankles and slowly rises higher. Its the most relaxing thing she could imagine after a day like this.

She lets out a sigh as he takes the washcloth and soap and lathers it, scrubbing her gently, starting with her arms. He makes his way down her body, over her chest and back first, before trailing down her breasts, torso, thighs, and finally her feet.

She watches the muscles in his strong arms twitch as they dip beneath the surface of the water. He rings out the cloth several times before placing his hand lightly on her back. “Up,” he tells her, prompting her to sit forward. He rinses her back, with the cloth first and then just with his bare hands. With the clean water he rinses her hair, adding a few drops of shampoo and lathering her with his fingers against her scalp.

He scoops her out of the bathtub and on to her feet, drying her off with a fluffy towel and then wrapping her in it before sitting her on the toilet.

He pushes his hand under the towel against her thigh, revealing a gash that's no longer bleeding. There's another, smaller one on the same leg right below her knee. They're both flesh wounds but he takes care of them anyways, pulling out a first aid kit, sterilizing them both, which makes her wince. And covering them with band aids. She watches him intently as he works, his brows low and furrowed, his eyes focused as if he were creating an immaculate piece of art.

He runs his finger lightly along the edge of her bandage, making sure it's sealed and in place. Then he brings his lips down to her skin. “I'm sorry,” he says, and presses them against her thigh.

“
Don't be,” she replies. He looks up at her, as if he's surprised to hear her response.

“
You should get some rest now,” he says, his voice quiet and surprisingly soothing. She runs her hand through his lush hair, only to have him grab it and press his lips against the inside of her wrist.