The Stolen Girl (18 page)

Slowly, that orgasmic pleasure retreated from my mind, leaving me warm and flushed and happy. I lifted my head from where it was buried in Roads’ neck, gazing down at him. I knew that the glowing love I could see in his eyes was reflected back in my own. I knew that I should get up, should get cleaned off before all of my partner’s juices flowed out of me and stained my bed, but I just didn’t want to move, to break this moment.

For a long time, we just laid there in each other’s arms. But finally, I stretched my suddenly tired limbs and hoisted myself up. I felt Roads’ wet cock, now soft and shrunken after releasing its load, slide out of me. Feeling my joints pop as I used my limbs after a long period of inactivity, I stood up and stretched my arms up over my head.

“I’m just going to get cleaned up,” I whispered to my partner, who was still lying nude on the bed. He twisted around a little and tucked his arms behind his head, showing no shame about his exposure. He grinned, showing me a mouth of broad white teeth, and I made sure to put a little swing into my hips as I sauntered, still nude, out of my bedroom and across the hall.

When I returned, a few minutes later, Roads had pulled on his boxers, but that big muscled chest and his shapely legs were still in glorious view. I hopped up into bed, squirming in next to him, and he wrapped his arms around me. “So now what?” I asked, my eyes already drooping as I settled into a comfortable position.

Roads leaned in to plant a soft, caring kiss on my forehead. “Your father apparently was very impressed with your description of me,” he replied. “So I’ve been hired to be your personal bodyguard, sticking with you and keeping you safe.”

“What about your living situation? Are you going to stay here?”

My cuddling partner shook his head. “No, but your father did set me up with a very affordable rental, just a couple blocks away. He really does look out for you.”

“
He loves me,” I murmured, squirming in closer to press my naked body against the man. “And I love him. And you.”

The man with his arms around me let out a deep sigh of contentment. “And I love you too,” he whispered, pulling me close.

And for the first time in days, I finally felt totally and completely safe. My eyes closed, and my breathing soon fell into sync with the man next to me. I had survived through my nightmare, and had come out stronger and happier than ever. If it hadn’t been for my kidnapping, I never would have met this kind-hearted biker, this burly man with a kind and caring soul.

And, happy and fulfilled, I drifted off to sleep.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

U
nfortunately, things don’t always work out quite as well in real life as they do in the stories. But sometimes, when someone is especially lucky, enough things come together to make them happy.

And I had to admit, despite the outcome of everything, I was happy.

The wheels of justice grind away without ceasing, but they also move slowly. Over the next few months, I had to stop by the police station a few more times, and then move over to the courthouse, where lawyers questioned me and grilled me on details about my time when I had been kidnapped. Sometimes, when I was speaking to the prosecutor, the questions were careful, safe, gently prodding at my memories without being aggressive. But when I was called in to be interrogated by the defense attorney, the questions flew hard and fast, even though my own lawyer was by my side to field any questions that strayed across those invisible and unpredictable boundaries.

But throughout it all, I never faltered, never felt myself slipping back into that black hole of depression and sadness. And the reason for that stood just outside the room every single time, patiently waiting for me.

True to his word, my father had agreed to hire Roads to serve as a “security consultant” - or, in other words, my personal bodyguard. My father had told me that the position was not guaranteed to be long-term, and that Roads would have his service evaluated, but I was just happy to have him by my side. He was there next to me every morning when I woke up, and I fell asleep every night in the comfort of his big, strong arms.

Fortunately, the lawyer that my father had hired to serve as the chief prosecutor was a very kind and understanding man - that is, when he wasn’t staring down a hostile witness or the defendant or his own lawyer. I had told the attorney my story, recounting as much detail as I could while pulling a constant stream of tissues out of the box he had handed to me as soon as I sat down. The man had remained silent the entire time, the only noise beside the sound of my voice the faint scratching of his pen. He had maintained sympathetic eye contact, only occasionally nodding or glancing down at his notes when I paused to sniffle.

After I had finished, now sitting in a small heap of crumpled tissues filled with tears and snot, the man nodded and looked down at his notepad. “So, from the sound of this, you only want to press charges against some of these men, correct?” he asked. “I assume so, given how one of the men ended up becoming your… bodyguard.” The pause was slight, but I still caught it.

I simply nodded, however, not wanting to have to explain more about that situation. “Slammer,” I said instead. “I want him to pay for everything he did. It was all his idea, and everyone else was all but forced to go along.”

The attorney flipped back a few pages in his notes. “Christopher Hemmelson,” he read off. “That’s the name of the man with the alias Slammer. And yes, from the sound of things, he will our primary focus.”

“Will there be enough evidence?” I asked, concerned. I had spent some time Googling cases similar to mine, cases of attempted rape, and had seen depressing results come out of our legal system. I hadn’t actually been raped, in the end, and there had been no doctor’s examination to verify what I claimed.

The attorney smiled, however - a cold smile that promised that someone was going to soon be very unhappy. “Hemmelson’s blood is a positive match for the blood on your bedroom window, so we have him on the kidnapping,” he said with confidence. “And there are multiple witnesses to the attempted rape - several of the other bikers have agreed to testify against him as part of their deals to cooperate with the prosecution.”

I sagged back into my chair. I felt relieved, but also tired. I just wanted all of this to be over.

When I left the room, Roads, who had been waiting outside for me, fell into step beside me. His hand wrapped around my shoulder, comforting me and pulling me in close. “Are you doing okay?” he asked, concern weighing heavily in his voice.

I turned my head and smiled up at the big man. Now that he was my personal security guard, I supposed that I should technically start thinking of him as John, his given name. But despite this, even though he had given up most of his leather attire, I couldn’t see him as anything but Roads, the biker who had shown me kindness and decency when I was a captive. His nickname had now become my private term of endearment, and I still whispered it to him when we were naked in bed together, when I was riding on top of him with my eyes half squeezed shut in pleasure. Whenever I did so, bending forward to let my tits dangle in his face as I whispered in his ear, Roads would always redouble his efforts, so clearly it was serving its purpose.

“What do you think is going to happen?” I asked the man, leaning my head ever so lightly against his upper arm as his hand wrapped around my shoulders.

Roads looked thoughtful for a minute. “There’s been tension simmering in the gang for a long time,” he reflected. “Slammer always managed to hang on to the title of president, but he was never totally accepted. I think that’s one of the reasons that the other bikers were so willing to sell him out. We believe in honor, but only if the person has earned the right to that honor.”

“What about the rest of the bikers?” I asked next. “Now that the president is gone, and you’re quitting, are they going to just disband?”

My bodyguard shook his head. “Never gonna happen,” he declared. “The gang always lives on. That’s their life; they won’t just give it up. They’ll move on, find new members, pick out new leadership.” He stopped and thought intently for a minute. “Actually, I’d bet money on Flamer taking over. She’s always had that fire inside her, and she doesn’t tolerate any shit. She’d be a good influence on the gang.”

I did have to admit that the thought of that red-haired woman, clad in black leather and not hesitating to lash out at the other bikers whenever they made a sexist comment, fit well in my mind. “Are they going to end up serving any jail time?”

“Maybe a couple of months,” Roads guessed. “But it won’t be long. And then they’ll be out once again, on the road and enjoying the feeling of freedom. There’s really no replacement for it.”

We walked out of the attorney’s office, outside to where Roads had parked his bike. Despite my father’s best attempts to insist on it, the man had steadfastly refused to sell his chopper. “I am always going to be a biker at heart,” he had declared. “I will promise to be safe, but I won’t change who I am.”

My father had eventually settled for emphasizing that safety. Roads and I had both been sent off to a motorcycle safety course, where I sat wide-eyed in the front row and jotted down a constant stream of notes and Roads dozed off beside me. When we had gone on to the practical portion, riding around an empty parking lot on little 250cc Yamahas, I had managed to fight through my panic and do quite well, earning gruff but sincere praise from the instructors. Roads, on the other hand, kept on getting in trouble, revving the engines and trying to push the little bikes to their limits - that is, up until I reminded him that my riding with him was dependent on him passing this class. That finally forced him to simmer down and obey the rules. We had both ended up passing; I had the highest final score of anyone in the class, while Roads limped through and just barely avoided failure.

When we rode together now, we both always wore full-face helmets. I had found one online that was bright pink, which of course was perfect for me. Roads had grumbled about this safety requirement as well, but I finally bought him a cherry red helmet and told him that if he didn’t wear it, he wouldn’t be getting lucky any time soon. With that threat in place, the man never hesitated to grab his protective gear - at least, when my eyes were on him.

Once we were both astride the bike, Roads pulled up the kickstand and gunned it into life. I wrapped my arms around him, my feet on the side pegs, and we roared out of the attorney’s parking lot, cutting through roads and traffic as we headed back to my house. I had become somewhat accustomed to the vibrating pleasure I felt every time I threw my leg over the big metal hog, but I still sometimes felt myself slipping away, my breath coming in short little gasps as the seat shook between my legs.

While the futures of Slammer and the gang were still up in the air, my personal future was comfortably established. I had been accepted into Georgetown, and my father had promised to pay for whatever housing I decided on. Roads and I had taken a trip over to the campus and surrounding area. We had quickly found a lovely little one-bedroom house for rent, close to the university, and we both agreed that it would be perfect. Roads was planning on finding a job in the city while I was at class, and we calculated that we could easily afford rent. Yes, the future for us looked bright.

But that was all in the future; there was still nearly a month until school began and freshman orientation kicked off. And I was determined to avoid thinking about it for as long as possible. I still couldn’t get enough of this big biker that I had taken in, and I was determined to spend as much time with him as possible.

We pulled up at a stoplight that had just turned red, and Roads eased off on the throttle. The roar of the engine between our legs dropped to a dull rumble, quiet enough for our voices to be audible above its sound. “So, what do you want to do for the rest of today?” Roads shouted, tilting his head slightly so that the sound carried out through his open visor to me.

My arms wrapped tightly around him as the light turned green and we took off once again, I considered the question. We had spent the last few days lazing around at my house, curled up together on the porch swing on our veranda and sipping cool drinks. Perhaps it was time to do something a little more active, a little more exciting.

I looked around at the greenery of the trees along the sides of the road. An idea suddenly came to me. “Let’s go for a hike!” I shouted back to Roads at the next stoplight. “Outside! In nature!”

I both heard and felt Roads laugh heartily, his chest shaking as we zoomed along. But he nodded. “You got it!” he roared back.

I clung to my man happily. I could feel the wind blowing through the vents in my jacket as we rode to keep me cool, the sun warm on my back, the motorcycle vibrating between my legs. And I couldn’t imagine a single thing that I could change to make myself happier.