Reaper's Property(41)

Shit, I’d forgotten about work.
“I need to call my boss,” I said.
“You scheduled to work today?” he asked, sliding his hand up to tangle it in my hair. I shook my head.
“No, not until tomorrow.”
“So you call her when we get home.”
“What am I going to tell her?” I fretted. “She’s been so good to me, she doesn’t deserve to have me just disappear on her without notice…”
“Tell her you got kidnapped by a biker and now you’re a prisoner in the mountains,” he said, leaning over and catching my mouth with his in a long, slow kiss that left me shaky. Before I could collect my thoughts, he grabbed my hand and tugged me into the store. I pulled back, still not too happy about the idea. He turned toward me, put both his hands on my shoulders and leaned in to me, face to face.
“Babe, I can’t wait to see you in some of this shit,” he said. “Your old job is not my priority here. I don’t give a f*ck what you tell her so long as she doesn’t file a missing persons report and make my life a pain in the ass. She does, things aren’t gonna go well. We clear?”
“Okay,” I said, biting my lip. His eyes caught on my mouth and grew dark, so I quickly pulled away and wandered toward a rack of panties—simple ones. Pretty but not slutty, plain cotton hip-huggers. Horse followed me, watching as I picked out a couple and shook his head.
“Get a few of those, you’ll want ’em when you’re on the rag,” he muttered, fingering one distastefully. “But the rest of the time I want you in something sexier.”
His tone didn’t leave any room for negotiation, so I didn’t bother arguing when he turned me bodily and pushed me toward the racks of higher-end stuff. A saleswoman came up to us, all fluttering lashes and smiles for Horse. Before I knew it, I was in a changing room with her, she had measured me and there was a pile of stuff for me to try on. Horse wanted to come in too, but I held my ground, so he waited outside and I called him in to look at each set once I had it on. I don’t know what the store policy was on couples in the rooms alone, but apparently it didn’t apply to giant bikers.
Unfortunately, this meant that he made the final decision on both what I tried on and what he planned to buy. In the end, I had six new pairs of sexy panties with matching bras, in addition to six pairs of plain cotton ones. Some of them were thongs, some were boy cut high across my ass, but all of them showed off my figure in a way that even I had to admit was hot. Then he started picking out corsets and nighties. Some of them looked like something from a bordello, all black lace, cutouts and bright red satin. Others were more tasteful, including a long, lacy nightgown and matching silk robe that looked almost virginal. My favorite piece was an ivory corset and bustier trimmed with faintly pink ribbons shaped like tiny roses. There were matching panties, and the look on Horse’s face when he saw them turned me liquid.
We ended up spending more than a thousand bucks. I almost had a heart attack, but Horse just ignored me as he paid the girl in cash. I don’t know whose eyes were wider when he pulled out that wad of bills, hers or mine. Then he handed me a black pushup bra and matching thong, saying, “Go put them on.”
I did what he said.
I figured that was the end of our shopping, but when we got back in the car he drove me to a motorcycle dealership. There he bought me a couple of Harley-Davidson tank tops that were way, way tighter than anything I’d ever worn in public before and a lightweight leather jacket. Next we stopped at a place called the Line—a strip club with an attached store full of women’s clothing. Apparently it belonged to the Reapers, and while the place wasn’t open yet for the day, the staff had arrived and were busy getting ready.
“I don’t like this place,” I told him as I followed him through the club toward a door in the far wall. Everywhere I looked were girls wearing almost nothing, some of them naked except for thongs and high heels while others wore silky robes. A few of them took his arm, pressing against his side. Some looked at me speculatively. One reached down and slid her hand over his fly, squeezing as she kissed his neck.
“Back off,” Horse said, clearly annoyed. She pouted and turned, glaring at me. “Fuckin’ bitches,” he murmured, unlocking a door leading into the store next door.
It wasn’t open for the day and I was thankful for that. This place made Vicky’s Secret look like a burkha warehouse. Edible panties, stripper heels, leather and lace and sex toys everywhere, including a few that made Horse’s equipment look small, which kind of frightened me. I literally couldn’t find a safe place to put my eyes, so I watched Horse instead as he picked out an outfit best described as “post-modern slut”. It included a dark-brown leather corset/bustier that stopped mid-stomach, exposing my bellybutton and the curves of my waist. He threw in a skirt so short I seriously wondered if I’d get arrested if we went out in public.
“I can’t wear this,” I told him, shaking my head as I looked at myself in the mirror. He stood by the counter, ignoring me. “I can’t, Horse. I’ll die.”
“You’ll wear it,” he replied, obviously preoccupied as he wrote something in a ledger.
“No.”
He looked up at me, taking in my belligerent stance. His eyes narrowed and we stood frozen for nearly a minute, neither of us blinking or giving an inch.
“We gotta go over the rules again?” he asked finally. “Because the way I remember things, you were begging to do whatever it took to save your pansy-ass brother, despite the fact that he came to us, asked us to back him and then screwed us over. In my world, that’s a prepaid funeral. You changing your mind about our deal? Door’s right over there, babe.”