Maggie
I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I can't help myself. Bridger looked damn good when he came home a bit ago. He was too damn nice when he asked me how I was doing, the worry evident in his eyes. He's been an amazing host these last few days, but more than that, he's given me sanctuary. For the first time in years, I feel safe.
And the overwhelming gratefulness I feel for him is now starting to screw with my mind. I'd thought he was beyond handsome the first time I'd seen him, although my fear was too great then for me to appreciate it. But the more I get to know him, and the more time we spend in each other's presence, he's become more than just a gorgeous man to me. I've become attracted to him in a way I have no business being. He's gay, for God's sake. Here I am, lusting after a man who could never feel that way about me, and even shittier, has done nothing but be kind and generous to me.
And I feel terrible for it.
Sometimes, he'll be talking to me and all I can think about is having sex with him. This embarrasses me so much, because I'm not one who thinks about sex like that. It's not ever been about my pleasure.
Not ever.
It's been a commodity I use, and it's gotten me places. Not good places, granted, but it's provided me with what I've needed to survive.
But Bridger... he makes me think of sex in a completely different way. Not as a tool or even a burden, but in a way that makes me think it can be sensual, decadent, and mutually satisfying. A foreign concept for sure, but I still fantasize about it anyway, even though I know he's interested in men and not women.
It just fucks with my head, that I could be attracted to someone who would never have an interest in me. A man who's completely untouchable. Perhaps that makes him even sexier to my way of thinking. Add on the fact he's become a hero to me in a few short days by taking me in and keeping me safe and I'm completely romanticizing him in my mind.
Just like right now as I sink down into the tub just far enough that the warm water laps over my breasts but doesn't touch the Bose headphones Bridger told me I could use to listen to music. He gave them to me a few days ago when I asked him if he had a stereo I could put on while I cleaned. He said he didn't and disappeared into his bedroom, but he came back with an iPod and the headphones that I've used religiously since then.
Bridger has excellent taste in music. I choose one of my favorite songs, "Let's Make Love" by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, closing my eyes as the music fills my ears. I immediately start to relax, which is testament to the fact that over the last few days, I've given into the security and comfort Bridger and his home have offered to me. It's the safest I've been in a long time, and only because I don't have to look over my shoulder or worry about being tortured to death by Kayla. While I miss Belle so much my chest continually aches, I know she's safe and in the best place she can be right now.
As the warm water soothes me and Faith and Tim sing about the sexiest of times, I think of Bridger because I can't help but do so. He's physically perfect to my way of thinking, his looks more masculine and rugged than any Wyoming cowboy has a right to be. One morning, I found him in the kitchen in just a pair of sweatpants. I stared like an idiot at his torso, which was rippled with muscle and adorned by a flock of blackbirds flying up his rib cage.
But truth be told, it's Bridger's eyes that do it for me. Golden brown, sometimes even glowing with a hint of orange like a Wyoming sunset. On more than one occasion, they have been filled with a fierce protectiveness when he talks about keeping me safe from Zeke. Call it hero worship or whatever, but it struck me deep and true and sparked some vivid fantasies that make me want to turn him hetero.
Like right now.
I wonder if Bridger would be gentle or rough. I've had gentle a few times, but it was mediocre at best. Mostly, I've had rough. Thankfully, it was over fast. Somehow though, I think Bridger might be both and that causes my hand to slip unbidden in between my legs as I think about how hard he must have been fucking Jared that night based on the sounds of pleasure I heard. And I've deduced it was Jared because when he came to check on me, I definitely noticed some gay mannerisms, although I could be wrong as I don't remember much about Logan at all.
A shudder works its way up my spine, and I imagine what his mouth would feel like against mine or his hands on my breasts. An ache develops between my legs. As my fingers gently touch my clit, I fantasize that it's Bridger's tongue there.
My hips jerk as I press my fingers down, and a long moan slips out of my mouth. I'm immediately mortified because it was loud. I know it was loud because I could hear it over the music in my ears.
My eyes slowly open, my heart pounding with fear that Bridger might have heard me, but movement from my periphery startles me. I bolt upright in the tub as I realize Bridger is leaning into the bathroom, the door partly open. His eyes are burning as they stare at me. I rip the headphones off and toss them to the floor while stammering, "What are you doing?"
I can feel my face burning hot from embarrassment. As an afterthought, I bring my hands up to cover my breasts as I slouch back down in the water.
Bridger's eyes never waver from mine, but his voice is thickened when he says, "I was knocking on the door, but you didn't answer. I was worried."
"Well, I'm fine," I huff out as I lean my head back against the tub, wishing I'd just melt into the water and never have to deal with him again. I can't believe he caught me masturbating, and I seriously just want to die from the mortification.
"I didn't mean to disturb you," he says carefully, but I close my eyes, refusing to look at him. "I'll let you... um... finish."
"I'm finished," I blurt out, reaching for the towel I'd put on top of the toilet tank beside the bathtub.
"Take your time," he insists, and my face flames hotter. I still refuse to look at him, but then he says, "When you're done, we need to talk."
His voice sounds so ominous that all thoughts of embarrassment flee. "Is it about Zeke?"
"Sort of," is all he says, and then he steps backward and pulls the door shut.
I scramble out of the tub, my heart racing. I do a half-assed job of drying off, putting on clean underwear and another pair of yoga pants Bridger bought me. He doesn't know much about women's fashion, but I really don't care, as I'm not going out in public. I pull on another t-shirt, foregoing my bra in my haste to find out what he knows, and almost bust my ass as I slip on a wet spot on the floor as I try to bolt out of the bathroom.
I take a deep breath as I half walk, half jog to the living room where I find Bridger sitting in his recliner, but he's perched on the edge of the seat with his elbows to his knees. He nods at the couch. I take my usual position at the end, facing him with my legs crossed Indian-style.
Before he can say anything though, I try to diffuse my embarrassment and I'm sure his as well. "I'm really sorry that you saw me..."
Bridger holds his hand up to stop me. "You don't have to apologize."
"But I do," I insist.
"Maggie," Bridger says with an admonishing look. "What you were doing is natural and trust me... it was no hardship watching a beautiful woman pleasure herself."
My jaw drops open over his words, which are dripping... yes, absolutely dripping with appreciation, even though his face remains impassive.
"But you're gay... aren't you?" I blurt out.
Bridger blinks at me with a look of stunned disbelief. For a moment, I think perhaps he's deep in the closet and doesn't want anyone to know, which makes me feel even more wretched. Then his lips peel back and he lets out a deep laugh, his eyes crinkling with jolly amusement.
"Aren't you?" I insist.
"Darlin'," Bridger says as he chuckles. "I am the farthest thing from gay that there is."
"But... I heard you that night... with Jared. At least, I think it was Jared..."
Bridger stops laughing and his jaw hardens slightly. He stares at me a moment, almost as if trying to figure out the best way to drop bad news, and this has me tensing up all over.
&n
bsp; His voice is rough... not with embarrassment, but maybe with disgust when he says, "You heard me fucking Jared, who is gay. It's what he wanted in payment for treating you."
My jaw drops again. "You fucked a man to pay him for treating me?"
"Do it again if faced with the same decision," he says gruffly. "It was a fair trade."
"A trade," I ask in disbelief. "You fucked a man even though you're not gay so he'd give me medical treatment?"
"'Bout sums it up," he says dryly.
I'm so confused and deeply saddened for some reason as I struggle to understand. "So you're bisexual then?"
Bridger pushes off the recliner with a grunt of dissatisfaction, takes two steps, and sits next to me on the couch before turning his body to face me. His hand reaches out, grips me by my jaw, and he leans in before saying in a low voice. "Hear me, Maggie. I'm not gay. I'm not bisexual. I'm turned on by women and not men, but it doesn't mean I haven't fucked men in my past, and probably will again in my future if it serves my needs."
"But... but... I hate that you did something like that for me. That you had to do something terrible..."
Bridger's fingers squeeze my jaw. "It wasn't terrible, Mags."
Mags.
He called me Mags.
My best friend in middle school used to call me that, and I'd always loved that endearment. "It wasn't terrible?"
He shakes his head and shrugs. "I got off. I mean, fucking is fucking, you know?"
"No," I whisper. "I don't know."
Because I don't. It's hard for me to get off with a man, mainly because no one has ever cared about my pleasure before.
Bridger's hand pulls back. He brings it to his own head where he rakes his fingers through brown locks that look in desperate need of a trim. Yet, I hope he leaves it just as it is. With a sigh, he says, "I need to tell you some stuff about me."
"Oh-kay," I say cautiously, the tone of his voice putting me on edge.
"I own a sex club called The Silo," he says, and I wasn't prepared for that at all. Of all the things I thought he might say, that would not have been near the top of any list.
"I thought you owned a nightclub," I mutter.
"I do, as well as a sex club. My life... my career... it's about sex. It's always been about sex for... well, as long as I can remember. And I've taken that and turned it into something good, not only for me, but also for other people who want a safe place to act out their dirtiest fantasies without fear of judgment or recrimination."
I just stare at him, oddly repulsed and fascinated. With horror, I realize... also slightly turned on now that I know he's not gay but still fucked a man so that I'd have medical care. And damn... now I wished I'd seen that rather than just heard it because the thought of Bridger...
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. "Why are you telling me this... that you own a sex club? It has nothing to do with me."
"It does," he says as his eyes cut downward to his lap briefly. It's an action I recognize... shame. "It's how I know Zeke."
"What?" I gasp.
His eyes snap back up to mine, and they're filled with resolution. "I was introduced to Zeke by a mutual acquaintance, and I was subsequently invited to some parties out at the compound. I went a few times... met Kyle and got to know some of the other guys as well. I performed some services... for Zeke and Kayla."
"Services?" I ask, my throat tightening up with apprehension.
"BDSM," he says. "Zeke had me do things to Kayla while he watched."
"What kind of things?" I rasp out, not wanting to know but needing to desperately. He's talking about things of a sexual nature and while he's maintained to me all along he's not friends with Zeke, I'm sorry... but sex is personal and I'm starting to feel my spider senses tingle with fear.
Bridger's eyes hold mine captive. "Kayla gets off on pain. So I give it to her. Usually with a whip, sometimes with a cane. I'd hurt her until she came, and then Zeke would fuck her."
"Did you--" I start to say, but my voice cracks. I clear my throat, start again. "Did you fuck her?"
"Never," he says forcefully. "Not once."
"Zeke?"
"No, Maggie." Bridger growls with frustration and launches off the couch. He steps past the coffee table, heading toward the door where he peels the blinds back and peeks outside. I'm not sure what he expects to see, but he quickly turns back to me. "You don't understand... I don't get off on handing out the pain. Not in a sexual way. They pay me money to deliver it, and I accept it. It's what I do, that's all."
"It's what you do?" I inquire stupidly, because I'm more confused than ever now.
"I have to do it," Bridger says quietly. "It's who I am."
I shake my head, look down briefly at my hands clasped in my lap, and then back up to him. "I don't understand."
"Join the club," he mutters as he walks back toward me. Rather than taking the couch, he sits down on the coffee table and reaches out. His hands cover and engulf mine, holding them protectively. "I owe Zeke a favor. He's summoned me out to the club tomorrow night."
"To service Kayla?" I ask with quiet dejection as my eyes fall down to his hands covering mine.
"I don't think so," he says softly. That makes me look back up, because I hear relief in his voice. "He gave up one of his club members a while back who attacked a friend of mine. Turned him over to the police. That's the favor I owe him. In the past, he told me he wants me to come out and put on a show for the other members with some of the club girls."
I nod, but I still don't understand. I mean... I get what Bridger is saying and I'm clear on what he's done in the past. I guess what I don't understand is if he still intends to protect me or not. So I ask the question I'm dreading the answer to. "So... are you going to turn me over to him?"
"For fuck's sake, Maggie," Bridger practically barks at me, his hands tightening on mine almost painfully. "Didn't I tell you I'd protect you?"
His eyes flash with fury, and there's no doubt he's pissed over my lack of faith in him.
"I'm sorry... I just... you threw me for a loop, Bridger. And what am I supposed to think? Doing sexual... um... things to someone... for someone... well, that's sort of a personal relationship. You also owe Zeke a favor. Why not turn me over to him and collect on your favor?"
"Because I'm telling you I wouldn't ever do that," he growls at me. "I will protect you."
God, can I believe him?
I want to believe him so much because I don't want to give up this safety I've been feeling. I don't want to lose the hope I've started to foster that I'll get Belle back as soon as Kyle takes Zeke down.
I'm not ready to give up... Bridger?
I mean, damn it... he caught me masturbating to fantasies of him, advised me he wasn't gay, which seem to make the fantasies okay now, and then proceeded to tell me he whips Kayla while Zeke watches. I'm appalled and turned on all at the same time.
I'm so fucking confused. "I'm sorry. I'm just a bit stressed over everything."
Some of the heat dies down in his eyes, but he still looks at me with chastisement. "I've got to go tomorrow night so I don't arouse suspicion, but I'm hoping I can use it as an opportunity to talk to Kyle... see what's happening. I'm hoping to get some information at the very least that will clue us in on what we need to do next."
I look at him directly in the eye, and I see determination to help me. I can see it sitting there with stubborn refusal to accept anything less than my absolute protection, and God help me... it makes me want to kiss him.
"Tomorrow night...when I go to the compound," Bridger says, his thumb now stroking the back of my hand. "I'm going to have a friend come stay with you."
"Do you think that's necessary?" I ask with worry.
"Probably not," he assures me. "But in the very off chance Zeke knows you're here and he's doing this to lead me away, I want someone looking over you and willing to protect you in my absence."
I nod, because what else can I do but accept this? I don't want to die,
and I sure as hell don't want to go back to the compound with Zeke.
Then Bridger surprises the shit out of me when he leans forward and gives me a quick kiss on my forehead. His lips are warm and dry... soft and gentle. It's a sweet move on his part, but it's sexy to me.
Bridger pulls away and stands up, refusing to look at me as he turns toward the hallway. "I'm headed to bed."
I don't want him to go. I want him to stay and continue to talk to me. I want him to kiss me again, this time on my mouth, maybe my breasts, and then on my--
"Bridger?" I call out to him, wincing internally at the desperate tone in my voice. It reeks of a pitiful need I have but that I really have no business asking him to fill.
He stops but doesn't turn back to me, his head bowed downward. "Don't."
"But--"
"We can't," he says firmly, still refusing to look me in the eye while he denies me.
And without another word, he disappears from sight.
Chapter 7
Bridger
I enter the front door of the main building of the compound, assaulted by loud music, smoke, and the cacophony of drunk bikers partying. It's the last place on this earth I want to be, but it has to be done.
Woolf came over to stay with Maggie at my house tonight while I do my thing. I told him about her when I was at his ranch the day before, not because I thought I'd need his help to watch over her, but because I didn't keep many secrets from Woolf and I trusted his wisdom. I thought I had a good handle on the situation, but I wanted to know if he would see things different than I was.
Not surprisingly, he felt I was doing the right thing and volunteered to help in any way he could. One way he suggested was going to Kyle's sister, Andrea. I'd met her briefly when Woolf's brother, Tenn, got married on the ranch. Tenn knows Kyle, probably better than I do as he had Kyle do some work on his bike. They once rode cross-country together as Kyle wanted to visit Andrea, who lived in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Andrea used to be an FBI agent. Woolf surmised that maybe Andrea knew about Kyle's undercover operation and could help us get word to the ATF about Maggie and Belle. Maybe they could even put Maggie in protective custody until Kyle could finish his bust, but I really didn't like that idea because I didn't want Maggie to leave.