Falling For The Biker: The Vice President's Girl Chapter 34

Wren

"Excuse me?" I scoff, looking down at my very bra-less chest.

Ezra's eyes dip to it, and his jaw ticks. "My point exactly."

"You can't possibly ask me to wear a bra every damn time, Ezra."

"I can." He looks down at his phone again. "Rule number two, you're not leaving this house without me."

Crossing my arms, I glare. "Can you at least let my food digest? I just ate."

He presses his lips together, leaning back on the chair. "You know, normally, I'd print the rules and paste it on the fridge. But because of your dyslexia, I'm taking my time to read them out to you—"

"We don't need rules," I try to say but he just continues speaking.

"—and you're not being appreciative."

"Well, you're not listening, Ezra!" I shout.

The house goes silent, still. Nothing creaks, nothing moves. Ezra's lips tighten, jaw clenching and unclenching, and an arched brow raises.

His hard eyes stare at me, dark, intense. And then, his voice comes in low. "Did you just yell at me?"

I swallow the thick lump in my throat, heart pounding. I shouldn't feel scared, but the way he looks at me... it feels like I should run.

"N-no," I stammer, palms sweaty. "I was only trying to—"

"Get up!"

The words sound too low to be a command, but too high to be a threat. It's a firm balance between both, and it shoots a thrill up my spine.

I clear my throat, only slightly. "W-what?"

"Don't let me repeat myself, Birdie."

Nerves flutter in my belly, and I push to my feet on shaky legs. The creak of the chair is loud enough to pierce, accentuating the deafening silence.

Ezra shifts his chair a little further away from the desk, and places his phone on the table. "Come here."

"Ezra—"

The look he gives me cuts me off, and the words die my throat, settling like lead.

"What did I say about repeating myself?"

Slowly, I approach him. He's dressed in loose sweats and a tank top, tattooed arms on display, and thighs spread wide apart.

He pats his thighs. "Bend over."

"What?"

He doesn't respond, and I know it's because he doesn't want to repeat himself. He pats his thighs again.

His face is a storm, an angry scowl pulling on his lips. It only compels me to move closer.

Goosebumps climb up my skin, the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end as I slide onto his thighs, stomach down.

Chest heaving, I gently place my hands on the floor, my bum in his face. My cheeks flush at the crass position.

Fingertips graze the back of my thighs and legs.

"I'm going to spank you, Birdie," he rasps, voice tight. "Three times, and you'll count. Do I make myself clear?"

My ears burn as I nod, embarrassment creeping up my spine. Not because of his words, but because I willingly crawled over his thighs...to be spanked.

"I need your words," he says.

My throat tightens, and I croak, "Y-yes."

"Good girl." The praise is quickly accompanied by a loud, and hard smack over my bum. I inhale sharply.

Pain sizzles across the skin, but Ezra runs his fingers over it soothingly.

The heat overrides the ache, and wetness pools between my thighs, nipples hard and rubbing against his thighs.

I gasp, lips parted, at the arousal that settles fiercely in my stomach.

"You didn't count," he reminds me.

I breathe through my nose. "I'm s-sorry—"

Another strike, this one harder than the last.

"One," I manage to whisper, tears springing to my eyes briefly.

Strike!

I sniffle. "Two."

He soothes the pain, ebbing it away. And finally, the last strike comes down on me. It fires up my nerve endings, core pulsing frantically, aching to be filled.

"Th-three," I moan, shuddering whenever his fingers skim my sore skin. I feel his hardness poking me in the stomach.

"What's rule number one?" His voice is deeper than normal, husky...thick with desire. His legs are tensed beneath me, like he's holding himself together.

My breath is shaky. "I shouldn't walk around the house without a bra."

"And rule number two?"

"I'm not to leave the house without you."

He hums low at the back of his throat. "That's my girl."

Finally, he helps me up. I stand in front of him, panting, stomach coiling with need especially at the sight of his outline in his sweats.

It stands proud, tall, heavy between his thighs...unrestrained. My mouth waters, cunt throbbing.

I wait for him to pull me to him, to finally take me hard, soft and on any, and every goddamn surface in this house.

"We'll talk about the remaining rules tomorrow." He stands to his feet, striding towards the liquor cabinet, and he pours himself two fingers of whiskey. "Go to your room."

I stiffen, holding my head high even though my whole body flushes in humiliation.

My jaw clenches, teeth grinding on each other. But I don't say anything.

He cocks the cover back into the place, staring at me as if waiting for me to protest, complain, or worse...beg.

I don't give him what he expects. Instead, I march toward the counter, grab the glass of whiskey and knock it down the back of my throat in one go.

It burns as it slides down my throat, but I welcome it.

"Fuck you, Ezra," I spit. "Fuck you and fuck your rules. I will do whatever the hell I want with or without your permission."

Without waiting for a reply, I snatch my phone off the table and storm up to my room, slamming the door so hard it rattles on its hinges.

I heave, staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes wild, crazed, cheeks red, and nipples so taut they could poke a hole through my shirt.

I'm done. And this time I mean it with every fiber of my being. I'm so fucking done.

I run a shaky hand through my hair, every part of me is wound up, and so fired up.

How dare he do this to me again after his promise at the hotel?

My eyes fall shut briefly, and I allow myself to conjure up images of what could have been if he stepped down from his loyalty to my brother for only a minute.

Before the images can form in my mind, there's a knock on the door. I hold my breath, watching the handle turn.

Slowly, the door pushes open to reveal him.

He stands bare feet outside my door, jaw set, eyes darkened and a fresh glass of whiskey in his hand as his latches onto the door knob.

A thick lump slides down my throat. Ezra's gaze is intense, ravenous...electric.

"When I asked you to go to your room, it wasn't because I didn't plan on finishing what I started," he says.

My breath hitches, heat prickling my skin.

He walks inside, the door clicking shut behind him. Gently, he takes a sip of his whiskey and places the glass on the desk.

Then, he speaks.

"I only needed you comfortable because I'm about to give you the ride of your life," he says huskily. "But know this, Birdie, after tonight, it won't happen again."

"Y-yea." My voice comes out low even to my own ears. "It's just one time, one night."

He nods. "Good. Now, get on the bed."

This is really happening...oh god.