The Biker's Paid Obsession

The Conjugal Visit

Logan

The click-clacking sound of her stilettos against the polished floor fills the tiny room before she stops, mere inches away from me, as the door shuts behind her.

My plan was to stand and assert my dominance when she walked in, but I remain glued to the edge of the small bed that occupies most of the room, her towering over me. I watch her closely as her eyes wander around the room before meeting my gaze, green and piercing, just like the woman I buried three years ago.

“Merry Christmas,” she says, a thread of sarcasm in her voice. “What would you like?”

I clear my throat as my gaze drops to her perfectly red lips. “I'd like you to change into something different.”

I pat the gift box sitting on the bed next to me, and her eyes follow. She joins me on the bed, the box the only thing stopping our skin from touching. She opens it and lifts the lingerie nestled in it up against her face.

“I want to watch you wear it,” I command, my poise returning with deliberate strength.

Hesitantly, she stands up in front of me and kicks her stilettos off her feet before stripping out of her short dress with unapologetic confidence. My eyes linger around her breasts as they bounce slightly when freed from her bra. I watch as her thumbs slide into the sides of her panties, pushing them down gently until they fall to her feet where she kicks them off. I'm too busy trying to find differences between her body and that of the woman I buried that I don't notice my c**k pushing against my orange jail pants begging to taste what the eyes see.

I suck in a deep breath as I watch the familiar way she slips into the new lingerie. It's like I'm three years back in time, only now, the memory unfolds in a different setting. When she's finished, she simply stands there, waiting for my next command. I give it to her.

“Turn around for me.”

Goosebumps ripple her skin as she slowly turns her back to me, and I wonder if she's afraid, if she regrets coming here at all. My heart pounds as my gaze drops to the one place that will tell me the truth, the detail that will decide whether this woman is the one I buried three years ago or merely her reflection.

There is no star-shaped birthmark on her left buttock. There's no birthmark at all.

The realization settles heavy and sharp all at once. This woman isn't who I thought she was. Unlike the ghost that haunts my mind, her eyes are full of life, and knowing that is bittersweet. I'm relieved, and yet it hurts just the same.

I hadn't realized how tightly I'd been holding onto the hope that she might be the same woman until it slips through my fingers.

“You can cover up now,” I say, my voice more steady than I feel.

She turns around and searches my face, her eyes alive and confused. And for the first time since she walked in, I don't see a ghost at all. I see a woman who chose to stand in front of me, ready to pleasure me, and that realization changes everything.

“Is that all?” She asks, her voice steady despite the confusion written all over her face. “You interrupted my Christmas and had me wear this ridiculous lingerie just so you could watch me?”

“Yes,” I lie. “I don't get to watch women in lingerie around here without f*****g them so I wanted a change for Christmas.”

“Well, that sounds stupid,” she says, grabbing her dress and sliding back into it. “Let me guess, you've failed to f**k me because I'm not what you expected to see after checking my profile. Sorry, my manager hasn’t updated the pictures there, those were taken a few years ago.”

She looks ashamed.

I study her properly now, not hunting for birthmarks or scars, not comparing her against the ghost that lives only in my mind. She's gorgeous and I can't believe she thinks I've failed to f**k her. Lord knows I want to pin her against the wall and fill her cunt with my c**k right now.

“I'm not what you expected, am I?” She asks, her brow raised.

“No,” I admit, and not in the way that she thinks, but I don't bother to explain. I can't tell her just how much she resembles my dead girlfriend. Neither can I tell her that today isn't the first time I'm seeing her, that I'd watched her for weeks before I was thrown into this shithole, and that I know more about her than the fact that she's a call girl. “But that doesn't mean you don't belong here.”

A flicker of confusion and fear crosses her face. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I'll see you again,” I say.

She shakes her head and quietly slides back into her stilettos before walking to the door. She tries the handle but it doesn't budge.

“You only leave the room when the minutes assigned to the visit are completed,” I say as she begins to knock.

She sighs, then leans her back against the door and slides down to the floor, pulling her legs to her chest. The position exposes just enough to keep my c**k hard and begging for her.

“What a way to spend Christmas,” she finally says with a quiet sigh, her gaze pinned to the floor.

“You had better things to do?” I ask deliberately.

“I'm supposed to be with my daughter right now, but look at me. I sacrificed that time for what… this?” Her voice is laced with regret.

“You could have refused the appointment,” I shrug.

She lifts her gaze to me, anger slowly creeping over her face. “And risk losing my job?”

I smirk. “The job isn’t the only reason you took it. You needed the money that comes with appointments as risky as this one, especially on a day off.”

“And how do you know that?” She asks, sarcasm sharp in her tone.

“I can tell,” I say.

Silence stretches between us. I wonder what's going through her mind.

The sound of a key sliding into the lock startles her. She pushes herself off the floor, urgency written into every movement, as if all she wants now is to leave this tiny room.

“Your time is up,” the warder calls from outside.

I expect Elizabeth to open the door immediately, to put as much distance between us as possible, but she doesn't. And that surprises me.

“I wasn't given a name,” she says, her eyes curious as they hold mine.

“Logan,” I reply. “Logan Mercer.”

Her eyes widen as recognition dawns, but before she can speak, the warder opens the door and motions for her to leave.