I folded my arms across my chest. “Any more rules I should know about?”

 

“That you shouldn’t even be in this room.”

 

“This room?”

 

I glanced around in the space that we stood, my eyes flitting between the pictures on the walls. It was a rogue’s gallery. Some faces I recognised like Indie’s, Demon’s and Fury’s, and others I didn’t.

 

Indie nodded. “Only club members are allowed inside this room. Occasionally other clubs by invitation. But no women.”

 

“Why? I can’t see any secrets in here. Just all these pictures. Club members?”

 

“That’s right. Past and present.”

 

“Where are they now?”

 

“Some are dead, one or two left. But that’s pretty rare.”

 

“Why is it rare?”

 

“Most people join a motorcycle club for life. Very few choose to leave. Some are thrown out, others die.”

 

Indie stepped forward until his body was touching mine, no space between us, and as I took a little step backwards, the back of a chair dug into my back.

 

“So, if I’m not supposed to be in this room, why did you bring me in here?”

 

“I wanted you to see it. To see the life I lead, Emmie. I don’t want you to be scared of me, or the club.”

 

“I’m not scared of you.”

 

He dipped his head, his lips just brushing mine, so that I could feel the little wisps of air breathed against me, tickling at my skin.

 

“I don’t want you to be scared of me, not ever.”

 

His words were hot against my mouth, his lips following, plucking at me, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth as he stepped closer still so that the back of that chair was now burying into me. His hands moved against both sides of my head, pulling my face into him, his kiss deepening, my tongue battling to keep up with his. With each reaction, his lips became more forceful, taking what he wanted, what he needed. And that ferocity, that sudden assault on my mouth, the bite of the chair in my back, the surge of heat that raced through my veins. I needed him like this, too.

 

I needed to feel him inside me. Putting out the fire he’d created, not fanning the flames and leaving me to burn from the inside out. But we were in his sacred room. The room I wasn’t supposed to be in. The room I probably should never have even seen. The flames inside me flourished, like someone had poured a load of petrol on them and as his lips grabbed at mine, as his tongue dipped and plundered, as his hands held my face there for him to take, I whimpered, loud and pathetic.

 

“Fuck, Emmie,” he spoke against me, one hand moving from my face, the other sinking into my hair, grabbing a rough handful and pulling my head backwards, his lips and tongue landing on the exposed flesh of my neck.

 

I shouldn’t like this. I didn’t use to like this. But with Indie, it was all so different. Just the swirl of his tongue on my skin did something to me. Like I’d never been touched. But maybe I hadn’t? Not like this. Not in a way I actually enjoyed.

 

I gasped again as he sucked down onto my skin, his fingers brushing my stomach, grabbing at something. The material pulled up over my head in one quick movement, and my first instinct was to cover up the marks on my stomach.

 

“No,” Indie whispered against my lips, tugging my hands away.

 

Indie’s other hand slid over my stomach, and this time I stifled the wince, biting back the words that told him to get off that sagging part of me. His fingers moved up my body, reaching round my back and then he flicked them, my bra pinging free, his hand sliding straight into the gap he’d created, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Gasping, I let my head loll back, his lips and tongue replacing his fingers, his other hand moving over the other breast, teasing my nipple into a tightened peak.

 

Reaching for him, I let my fingers glide under the t-shirt he wore, feeling over every bump that was covered by tight, tattooed skin. Indie stopped, taking his mouth from my nipple, wisps of cold air attacking the very end and making me shiver involuntarily. Then, over his head, he peeled his own t-shirt off, his muscular body absorbing shadows where the ink covered almost all his skin in a dancing pattern of colour. The silver-grey hair on his chest, caught in the light, shining, the same hair swirling together to form a line on his stomach, and down under the waistband of his jeans.

 

My fingers wandered over his skin, following the flow of the ink, brushing over the definition of his pecks, the scars hidden in the ink, the skin rougher where the flesh hadn’t properly healed. Like mine. And then over the faint ridges of his stomach, settling just above the button of his jeans.

 

“You want them off, Spuggy?” he asked, his voice hinting at the smile within it.

 

I nodded, my teeth raking across my lip. Indie’s fingers swept over the top button, pinging it free with one deft movement, the zip scraping angrily as it was ripped open. He pushed the jeans over his hips, the trail of hair down his stomach expanding to his groin, dark grey, with flecks of silver, and then as his jeans cleared his arse, his erection jumped out, its angry head peering at me.

 

Reaching forward, I stroked my fingers over the top, a bead of pre-cum ready and waiting, the head engorged, mushrooming out from the shaft. My fingers only just closed round it.

 

“I love seeing your hand on my cock, Spuggy,” Indie spoke from above me, his voice thick. “Makes me look so much bigger.”

 

“It is,” I whispered, not looking up to meet his eyes, fixing my stare on the swollen dick in my hand like it was the first time I’d touched one.

 

“Alright, Emmie. Trousers off,” Indie’s words were a command. A sudden thud of pressure hit me square between my legs, my stomach clenching. “Now.” His impatience was growing, and his words laced with something raw.

 

I let go of him, pulling open my own jeans, sliding them down over my thighs. Indie stepped onto them, holding them with his foot as I tugged my legs out.

 

“And the rest Spuggy. Don’t make me rip them off.”

 

I shouldn’t like those words he used, the threats they contained. But instead of scaring me, instead of making me feel defeated, belittled, out of control, I felt exactly the opposite. And so, I looked up at him, meeting his eyes and the hunger on his face, and smiled.

 

“So, it’s like that then, huh?” his voice was almost a growl, a low rumble, a demonstration of the size and power difference between us.

 

Indie reached for my shoulders, spinning me suddenly, and now I was facing the wall of framed photos that looked more like mug shots than a member’s gallery. He stepped in behind me, kicking my legs apart, pushing my shoulders down. My nipples twinged, hardening against the cold of the wooden table.

 

“I’m gonna fuck you like this, Spuggy. From behind. I might get rough. Tell me now to stop?”

 

He was asking permission. Asking if he could do what he wanted. I should be scared, but I wasn’t. Inside, my stomach was on fire, a sense of need building, a static between my legs. I needed him to touch me, to enter me, to fuck me. I trusted him. For the first time, I trusted this man to look after me, even bent over the table, vulnerable.

 

“I’m gonna need an answer little sparrow,” his fingers ran over the top of the fabric covering my pussy, making me whimper stupidly, a signal for him as he tugged my knickers to one side, pushing the tip of a finger gently inside me. “I need an answer, Emmie.”

 

“I don’t want you to stop,” I breathed, his fingers sinking lower, my pussy clenching round him.

 

“Good girl.” His thumb swirled my clit and my hips moved back into him, feeling his cock against my bum.

 

Indie slid his fingers from me, holding me over the table, pulling my knickers down my legs. Then behind me I felt the brush of his hand as he guided himself towards me, sliding the head of his cock back and forth, feeling his way until it sank inside, little by little. Then with a groan, he pushed forward, forcing inside, forcing me open, my body clenching hard, an involuntary motion I didn’t think I would truly get over. His hand tightened in my hair, pulling my head backwards, a prick of pain in my neck. 

 

That pang should have made me stop him, made me hate what he was doing, but my pussy pulsed in response, a fresh surge of energy forced through my veins. Indie bent his head forward, his lips plucking at my skin, the scrape of teeth, and then a sudden fullness as he pushed inside and stilled. And now I could feel him flush against me. His groin against my bum, the hand in my hair forcing my head back, another hand in the small of my back, keeping me from getting away. But he stopped, his breathing ragged, his fingers smoothing over the skin just at the top of my pelvis. I squirmed slightly, tilting my hips back into him, a little signal for him to move.

 

“Careful, Spuggy. I’m not sure I can move right now.”

 

“Why? Am I doing something wrong?”

 

“No Emmie. Everything about you is so right. But this little pussy is killing me, and if I move right now, I won’t be able to hold back.”

 

“I don’t want you to hold back, Indie.” I never would have thought those words before, and now I was saying them out loud, almost begging this man to hurt me.

 

He dipped down, kissing my neck again, swirling his hips slowly, so that I felt every thick inch of him move within me. And then I realised I didn’t need him to hurt me, no matter how much I wanted it, because every time we were like this together, he made me feel alive. He circled those hips again, and this time I couldn’t hold back the cry that slipped through my lips.

 

“That’s right Spuggy. And now I’m going to fuck you hard.”

 

He pulled out, just a little way, and then slowly back in again, carefully building a rhythm. And then again, and again. No faster, just steady. And with each slow movement, I could feel him inside, pulling and pushing through my flesh, awakening every nerve ending in my pussy, sending a thousand tiny signals around my body. Then he pulled back again, stopping a moment as my flesh relaxed, but then suddenly he moved, ramming back into me hard, really hard, the top of his cock hitting me, my cervix stopping him driving it any further. And I did cry out, a gasp of pain, a wail of pleasure, the two sensations mixing into an alien cocktail.

 

Indie didn’t stop, grunting behind me, thrusting and moving, his fist tightening in my hair, his other hand gripping my hip. And now he was muttering, half under his breath.

 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” His hips moving in the same rhythm, my unintelligible cries mixing with his chants.

 

The heat building inside me was excruciating, and with each connection with my cervix, my body shook, my legs feeling like they couldn’t take my weight. He moved closer to me, the hand moving from my hair to round my throat, his fingernails gently scraping across my skin, his other hand snaking around the front of me, reaching for my clit.

 

“I can’t stay in control much longer, little sparrow. I’m going to need you to come for me.” He pushed his thumb against my clit, sending a bolt of electricity up through my legs, and I shouted something that made no sense.

 

Indie pumped faster and harder as my strangled cries filled the room, his fingers rubbing and pinching at me, and now my body moved on its own, my hips sinking back to meet him, trying to take him deeper and then pushing my pussy into his hand.

 

“Oh God, Indie,” my voice filled the room.

 

“Come for me, Spuggy. I want to feel you.”

 

I looked up, my eyes struggling to focus, but what I could see were the faces of the club members in the frames on the walls, watching me being fucked by their vice president in their most sacred room. Indie rubbed at me again, and my legs shook, my toes tensing, my fingers scrabbling for something to grab hold of on the table in front of me.

 

“Ah fuck,” I breathed, the sensation hitting me hard, my whole body shaking before going limp underneath him.

 

Then he took his hand away, putting both on my hips, as I lay flat on my front helpless, Indie’s cock pounding into me from behind.

 

“Good girl, Emmie,” he breathed through gritted teeth.

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