Biker for the Night (For The Night #6) (2 page)

‘Tiff, I really ought to
jump in the shower, I’m being picked up by Logan’s chauffeur in an hour.’

‘I can’t believe you’re doing this, I mean you’re
paying
for sex, when you could get it for free any night of the week. Especially with
Dale, you know he wants you. Badly.’

‘It’s not like I don’t want him, but can you
imagine the look on my parents’ faces if I introduced them? He’s from one of
the roughest estates in London, covered in tattoos and rides a battered old
motorbike. You saw the picture he sent me of it. He couldn’t be more far-fetched
from their visions of proper boyfriend material, which is clean shaven, with
unblemished skin, a fantastically high paid job and a Ferrari or Lamborghini
parked in the basement of their penthouse, or preferably in one of the garages
of their stately home. My parents have certain expectations of me when it comes
to boyfriends, you know that. They’d think all Dale was interested in was my
trust fund.’

‘I bet Dale doesn’t even have a clue who you are,
Eve. It’s not like he’s the type to read
HELLO!
or
OK!
magazine.’

‘I just can’t risk it, Tiff. They were so
disappointed in my Uni grades, I couldn’t bear to see that look on their faces
again. They do so much for me, you know they do. I owe it to them to respect
their wishes.’

‘And what about your happiness? Money doesn’t make
a nice guy, Eve. You’ve been out with some real shit bags, that your dad
considered eligible bachelors. Surely being attracted to a guy, being able to
laugh with him and wanting to rip those tight sexy leather trousers off that biteable
bloody backside, is more important than a title or money?’

‘Well I think so, maybe you could try convincing
them? All I get is, “Eve, we didn’t send you to finishing school for you to
pick up any Tom, Dick or Harry off the street, darling.”’

‘Well it’s sexism, that’s what it is. Double
standards. Do they care who your brother screws? No, and he’s been out with
some real skanky slappers.’

‘I assume you’re not including yourself in that
sweeping statement,’ I laughed. Tiff and Charles, my brother, had been screwing
on and off for years. ‘Listen, I know you mean well, and I love you for it, but
I seriously need to get ready. No way am I jeopardising the opportunity to have
wild hot sex with a biker, an opportunity that Dale and I will never get to
experience in real life. One picture in the paper of the two of us, it would
finish Dad off and I don’t think Mum could live with “the shame” of it.’

‘I say screw them, you’re an adult now. What’s the
worst they can do? Cut off your trust fund? You’re modelling now, you’re
earning decent money on your own, sure that extra few million would come in
handy, but it’s not like you need it. I just want you to be happy and you’re
not happy, Eve.’

‘I know,’ I sighed. ‘Let’s go out for lunch Monday,
before I fly back to New York, and we can talk then. I can fill you in on my
amazing evening and then we can debate my dilemma, ok?’

‘Let’s hope this Logan is as good as Felicia made
him out to be.’

‘I seriously hope so and his discretion had better
be top notch as well. If it ever came out that The Earl of Beaumond’s daughter
paid for sex, I won’t just be disinherited, I’ll be disavowed,’ I sighed as
Tiff laughed.

‘Go, get ready, but I can’t believe Dale put
himself out there and sent you a text asking for a date and you’ve ignored him.
Enjoy your night, text me when you’re up tomorrow to arrange a meet, assuming
you can still walk of course.’

‘Bye, Tiffany,’ I laughed, as I hung up before she
stalled me any longer. I got up from my sofa, making my way across my lounge,
through my bedroom and into my master bathroom. I had four interconnecting
rooms in one wing of my parents’ house, far enough away to have some of my own
privacy. When I use the word “house,” that’s a mild understatement. Think
Downton Abbey meets the 21
^st
Century. My father, Rupert Augustine
Myers, is indeed an Earl, a title that had been handed down through the
generations and our ancestors could be traced back to the times of Henry VI, we
had royal blood flowing through our veins. Granted, there would have to be some
freak accident to wipe out masses of the Royal family before one of us was next
in line for the throne, but we were in line, just towards the back of it. The manor
we lived in, in Buckinghamshire, dated back to The War of the Roses era as
well, complete with a moat and fancy gardens with a maze. We had servants and my
parents dined at opposite ends of a table that stretched on so far, they had to
shout to each other, with Charles and I often acting as go-betweens when the
echo didn’t reverberate far enough.

Much as I loved them, much as I appreciated the
trappings the family title and money had to offer, I felt stifled. I wore the
façade of a well-mannered polite and graceful young lady, but in reality that
was my prison. Inside, screaming to get out, was a potty mouthed, smoking, pint
drinking tomboy, who longed to get pierced, inked and smoke weed with her biker
gangster boyfriend. Extreme yes, but that was the point of fantasies, to be
everything life wasn’t. I could leave the smoking, my mouth wasn’t all that foul
and after some careful consideration, I decided that I’d have to decant part of
the pint into a more ladylike half pint glass, but I really would love to have a
tongue and clit hood piercing and get a tattoo. The ink was out of the question,
regardless of my heritage, it was still frowned upon by the modelling agency I
was signed to, but the piercings and the biker boyfriend,
that
was part
of the fantasy that I longed for. I went to run myself a bath and filled it with
an expensive fragrant oil.

I lay back and closed my eyes as I pictured Dale’s
face. He so wasn’t my usual type, then again I’d never been allowed to choose
my own boyfriend, they’d been introduced to me and were usually clean cut,
spoke with plums in their mouths and were so immaculately groomed I wondered sometimes
if I were the female in the relationship. Dale had dirty blond hair and the
glossiest chocolate brown eyes that just did things to me, things far dirtier
than his hair. We’d met about four months ago, in a hip new club in London. I
was there with my modelling friends and he was best friends with the bass
guitarist of Nevada 6, the biggest boy band to explode on the scene in recent
years. He’d eyed me up for most of the night, making me blush in a way I hadn’t
since I was a teenager with a crush. He’d finally snuck up behind me on the
dance floor, laying his hands on my hips as we moved. It was hot, heady, sweaty
and sexy, possibly the most erotic experience of my life. I could still recall
the way his body felt pressed in behind mine, that erection denting my flesh, the
smell of his aftershave and the faint aroma of oil from his bike. He had the
bad boy look down pat. Black denim jeans, a grey t-shirt and battered old brown
biker jacket and when he finally spun me around and I got to look at his face
up close and in detail, he’d smirked as he saw my reaction. He was every inch
the perfect guy to turn me on. I could see the edge of a tattoo creeping up his
neck, which just made his raw appeal even more appetising.

We’d ended up having a few beers and chatting, the
chemistry between us was palpable. Conversation flowed with ease and I loved
that he had a cheeky sense of humour, far less stiff and boring than the guys
my father always picked for me. We’d ended up snogging on the dance floor, a
real melt my knickers, flame my pussy kiss that rocked me to my core. I’d ended
up with stubble rash all over my face the next day, which the makeup team had a
job to conceal for a photo shoot on the Monday. We exchanged numbers, but as we
kissed goodbye, I knew in my heart that I wouldn’t agree to date him. I wasn’t
brave enough. My parents would seriously freak if I took someone like Dale
home. The only reason he got that close to me, was that I’d managed to climb
out of the back window of the ladies toilets in a cocktail bar and make it to
the club to have a few hours before Kane, my bodyguard, finally tracked me down
and hauled me away from Dale. From the best night of my life. I’d screamed and
rung my best friend Tiffany the minute I got a message from Dale, asking me out
on a date. The excitement was soon squashed by the thought of the look of
disappointment on my mother’s face. I’d replied to say I was busy and out of
the country on some assignments for a while, that I’d contact him when I returned.
I think he knew it was a brush off, but he was persistent and kept contacting
me, reminding me to text him when I was home, as he was “desperate” to take me
out. If only he knew how desperate I was to say yes.

I sighed as I got out of the bath. It had been a
few months since I last had sex, with one of my father’s selected “breeders,”
whose idea of great sex was to go at it like a jack hammer for five minutes and
then come, with no consideration for my enjoyment at all. That had been the
last time I’d gone on a date with him. Ever since Dale I just couldn’t bring
myself to see anyone, with the exception of Logan tonight of course. That was
different. He came highly recommended and given that he could plan out a whole
“Biker” fantasy for me, maybe a night of passion with him would take my mind off
this totally inappropriate crush on Dale. That was the plan anyway.

I headed into my bedroom, with a small towel
around me, to find that Maria had put a box on my bed. A large white box
secured with a black ribbon. Logan had said not to worry about an outfit, that
he’d supply one, and I couldn’t wait to see what was inside. I untied the soft
ribbon, carefully lifting the lid and grinned. I had a pair of seriously high
black leather ankle boots with silver spikes up the slender heel. There was a
black rubber bra, with zips over the nipples, a pair of skin tight, pillar-box red
rubber trousers, with a zip over the crotch and then a black leather jacket.
Nowhere in the box were any knickers, of any kind. It seemed Logan wanted easy
access, which for someone as sex starved and desperate as me, certainly wasn’t
a problem. I followed the instructions and made sure that I had a good coating
of baby powder, before I eased the seriously tight outfit on. It was a good job
I was in great shape, these trousers left nothing, and I mean nothing, to the
imagination. I did a spin in front of the mirror and nodded my approval at how
sexy my backside looked with its latex coating. I’d have to try some of this
fetish gear more often.

I smoked out my eyes and went for a messed up look
with my long jet black hair. I’d been instructed not to take a bag, that I
wouldn’t require cash and was prohibited from taking a mobile phone. Logan’s
driver would pick me up at eight p.m. and take me to him, wherever that may be.
I seriously hoped his driver was good enough to shake my bodyguard, Kane. I’d
suggested that I was picked up from the servants’ entrance at the rear, in a
bid to try and escape unseen. There were a number of secret passages hidden
throughout the house, but somehow Kane had managed to find all but one, which
seriously restricted my options for sneaking out. I looked at my mobile and bit
my lip. I assumed that Logan could be trusted, but I wasn’t totally stupid.
Going out without Kane was bad enough, but to not take my mobile too? I slipped
it into the interior of my leather jacket before zipping myself up, covered up
with a dressing gown, then sat on the edge of the bed and checked my watch.
Sure enough, dead on ten to eight there was a knock on my door. Until I advised
him that I was going to bed, Kane knocked on my door ten minutes before the
hour, every hour, to make sure that I was ok.

‘Thanks Kane, everything’s fine,’ I called, as I
stood on the other side of the door.

‘You know that’s not how this works, Lady Myers.
Please open the door, so that I can see for myself,’ he responded.

‘Is it really necessary? I already told you that
I’m fine. You know that no one other than Maria has been in.’

‘I’m just doing my job. Please open the door.’

‘Fine,’ I sighed. I flung it open and gestured for
him to come in. He was a beast of a man, there was no mistaking that I was
being followed whenever I went out with him. What he’d not been blessed for in
looks, he made up for with brawn. He ran his eyes up and down me and raised an
eyebrow before skirting around the room, checking under furniture and behind
the curtains. I waited until he’d done a sweep of all of the rooms before he
returned to where I was waiting, still patiently holding the bedroom door open.
‘You know, I could have been kidnapped right here while you were busy checking
the dressing room?’

‘That’s why we have cameras in the public hallways
and another team watching your every move on them. Where are you going
tonight?’

‘Nowhere.’

‘Please, I wasn’t born yesterday. You’ve done your
hair and makeup, you have heels on under that dressing gown and a delivery was
made for you by a man in a Merc, a man who’s still waiting in the car at the
back entrance for you.’