Pleasure Pain

Cobblestone Press LLC

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 15,000
0 Ratings (0.0)

Emma Crosby may be gorgeous, but she’s also a very successful attorney. The daughter of conservative scientists, Emma was raised to hide her emotions. Robbie Montgomery is a bad-boy biker: handsome, sexy, and, unbeknownst to most people, very successful. He loves to control women, but has never been able to find the one who can fulfill his desires—until he saves Emma from an attacker in the alley behind his garage and introduces her to a whole new world of sexual control.

Pleasure Pain
0 Ratings (0.0)

Pleasure Pain

Cobblestone Press LLC

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 15,000
0 Ratings (0.0)
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The sun had set in Kansas City about thirty minutes prior, making the alley dark and ominous, but it cut about five minutes off Emma Crosby’s walk to her car. As she stepped out of the old historic building and onto the brick of the alleyway, she glanced at the garage at the end of the block. The back doors were open, and she could hear the sound of metal being sanded. The men who worked there were rough-talking bad boy types, their bodies covered in tattoos. They tied their long hair back with bandanas and ponytails, and they never said anything to her. But every night as she walked to her car, they would stop and watch her. They had never laid a hand on her, but they still gave her the creeps.

Tall buildings shadowed the alley on either side, and the only light came from the weak street lamp by the main street. Quickly she headed east to North 7th, a main thoroughfare always populated with people and cars. The building in which she worked was in the middle of the block and Emma quickened her pace. She was almost to the open door of the garage when a man stepped out from the shadows and blocked her path.

“Hello, pretty lady,” he said, standing so close that Emma could smell the cigarettes and beer on his breath. “Where you off to so fast?”

Panic seized her, and she tried to step around him, but he had anticipated her moves and stepped with her—only this time he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Please let me go,” she told him, stepping back and yanking her arm.

The man, dressed in dirty jeans and a ratty shirt, refused to let go of her arm and chuckled. “You think you’re too good for me, working in that big-time law office while I have to struggle to make ends meet?”

“I want you to let me go because you have no right to touch me.” She tried to pull her arm free again, only to have him grab her and push her up against the brick of the building. Taking a deep breath, Emma let out a scream that was loud and clear.

A hard slap across the face snapped her neck to one side and dropped her onto the cold, damp bricks. Cool air chilled her left arm, shoulder, and breast. Looking down, she saw that he had torn her dress and was holding part of her sleeve in his hand. Now she was on her butt with this crazy man standing over her, and she knew she couldn’t do more than scratch or bite him if he got too close. It was probably too late to stop the attack. She closed her eyes and waited for him to grab her, but instead she heard a new, deep voice from behind her assailant.

“What’s going on here?”

Her eyes flew open to see a tall man dressed all in black, a blue bandana wrapped around his head and his long, straight dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Tattoos covered his arms, and he wore a black leather vest and chaps over his black T-shirt and jeans.

Her attacker spun around. “Nothing’s going on. Get outta here and mind your own business.”

The man in black leaned to his right and looked down at her. “You okay, ma’am?”

Quickly Emma struggled and stood. With a shaky voice she told the man “no,” holding what was left of her dress over her exposed breast. Before she could say anything further, the man in black grabbed her attacker and pinned him against the brick wall. Seeing the opportunity to escape, Emma ran to the other side of the alley. The noise from the garage stopped, and three men came out of the shop. “You okay, boss?” one called out.

“Call 911, Butch. Tell them that we have an attempted rape and we’re holding the guy.”

The man turned and hurried back inside while the other two walked out of the shop to where their boss was holding her assailant. They were instructed to hold him, and when they grabbed her attacker’s arms, one on each side, the man in black approached her. She noted his easy stroll, like nothing had happened that he couldn’t take care of, and when he was in front of her he stopped and asked if she was okay.

“He grabbed me as I was walking to my car. He tore my dress and slapped me.” Lifting her hand to swipe the hair away from her face, she noticed that she was shaking. So did her rescuer, it seemed. He looked around and when he spotted her purse and briefcase lying on the ground, he walked over and picked them up. After returning to her, he cupped her elbow and led her into his garage. Sirens filled the air, and the alley was filled with flashing lights as three police cars blocked the passage from both ends.

“You’re okay now,” the man in black said as he squatted in front of her. “Can I get you some water?” When Emma nodded, he left her only long enough to walk to a standup cooler and fill a paper cup. After handing her the cup, he covered her shoulders with a plaid flannel shirt, helped her button it up, and stood next to her until a police officer walked in and approached them.

The next hour passed in a blur, and the only comforting part was the man who never left her side. As the officer asked her questions and filled out a report, Emma noticed her savior for the first time. In the bright lights of the garage, she saw that he was very handsome, with the classic features of Cary Grant or Clark Gable and the bluest eyes she had ever seen. He was tall and thin but very muscular, the kind of muscular that came from hard, physical labor. His hair, though it hung down to almost to his waist, was dark brown, clean, and straight, not a broken end in sight. His face and body were so beautiful that she had a hard time focusing on what the officer was asking her.

Robbie Montgomery never had a problem getting women. The kind of women who hung out in the same places he did, anyway. He didn’t go for skanks. The women he spent time with were pretty and nice, but basically the bang-and-leave kind. The woman sitting in front of him now was not like anyone he had been attracted to before. She was class from the top of her shiny brown hair to the tips of her designer heels. Until that asshole attacked her in the alley, her appearance, just like every evening, was flawless.

Robbie had watched this woman walk down the alley every night for the past year. At the same time each night, she left the building next door to his custom garage, walked east to North 7th and then to the parking garage where she parked. Every night at the same time, Robbie made sure he was in his office looking out the window to watch her. There was nothing creepy about what he did. He would never have approached her or tried to make conversation—he simply admired her style and the way she carried herself with dignity, her posture always erect, her clothes and hair always perfect.

Under the bright lights of the garage, however, he discovered that he had been wrong about her appearance. She wasn’t pretty—she was gorgeous, the-cover-of-Playboy perfect. Closing his eyes, he thought about what it would be like to have such a woman in his life. She would never go for someone like him. Granted, he rode to a different beat. He didn’t know her name or what she did for a living, but he knew that if he didn’t at least try to get to know her, he would regret it for the rest of his life. For the last year he had watched her from a distance. If she turned him down, so be it, but he was going to at least try to get to know her, date her, and see if she liked the same things he did.

The officer got his name and other basic information and asked what he had seen. Robbie described how he had been in his office and had seen the woman from the building next door walk down the alley. He told the officer about hearing her ask the man to let her go and seeing the man tear her dress and slap her. “I ran out of the garage and pulled him away from her, then got one of my guys to call 911. Two of my workers held him for you all, and I brought her in here to sit, giving her a glass of water and covering her with one of my shirts.” He shrugged his big shoulder. “That’s it. We waited for you guys.”

The officer nodded as he wrote his report then turned to Emma, asking her again if she wanted to go to the hospital. “No, really. I’m fine,” she said as she reached up to touch her cheek, which was at that moment turning black and blue.

“We’ll take him into custody and he’ll be charged with first-degree assault with intent to commit sexual assault, first-degree assault, restraining a person against their will, and resisting arrest. We might get one charge to stick. The identification officer will be here shortly to take pictures of your face and ripped clothing.” He turned to go, but stopped to face her again. “I think that you should go out the front door of your office from now on. I know it’s a little longer to walk, but at least the street is lit and there’s traffic and people there.” He was handsome, Emma thought, and she really did appreciate his concern, but her thoughts weren’t on the clean-cut officer, They were on the big, bad boy standing a few feet away, looking at her like she was a cut of prime beef and he was really hungry.

“Thank you, officer. I’ll take your advice.” As he walked out to his cruiser parked in the alley, a young woman with short, spiked hair walked in, a police identification card encased in plastic hanging around her neck. She introduced herself as a crime scene investigator and proceeded to take pictures of Emma’s face, her torn and ripped dress, and the bruising on her shoulder and upper arm, all the while casting glances at the owner of the garage and Emma’s hero. When the CSI was finished with her pictures, she flirted with Robbie, asking him to show her where the incident had happened so she could take some shots of the scene of the crime. Emma watched as Robbie led the officer out the back door and pointed out where everything had happened. The CSI finished up the pictures, but stood talking to him, her hand on his arm and a big smile on her face. That girl was hitting on Robbie hard, and she was probably just his type. It made Emma suddenly jealous, an emotion she rarely felt. Certainly she’d never been jealous over a man like Robbie, with his bad-boy clothes, long hair, and tattoos.

The last guy she had dated was a stockbroker at a firm that her law office worked with. Scott Wilson had been a nice guy in his Brooks Brothers black suit, white shirt, and red power tie, but he was uptight. He looked down on everyone who worked a job that wasn’t up to his standard. And when he’d walked her to her door after their first date, he asked permission to give her a kiss, which turned out to be limp-lipped and too wet. Ugh. He’s wanted to see her again, but she turned him down. He wasn’t anyone she wanted to spend another evening with.

She was just plain tired of dating the same guy with a different name.

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