Biker for the Night (For The Night #6)

  Biker for the Night

  C.J. Fallowfield

  Kindle Edition

  1E

  ASIN: B00ROSPCRM

  Copyright © 2015 C. J. Fallowfield

  All Rights Reserved Worldwide

  Any unauthorised reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations and places or events, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  I am a British author and write in British English

  Image Copyright © 2015

  Edited by Karen J

  Proofreading by Fallowettes

  Cover Art by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design

  http://www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk

  Foreword

  Written as standalone quick hot reads, For the Night novellas are told in alternating points of view of Logan Steele, and his client, or clients. However, in order to fully enjoy Logan’s development, they should be read in the sequence that they are released:

  Strangers for the Night

  Virgin for the Night

  Filthy for the Night

  Ménage for the Night

  Sophisticated for the Night

  Biker for the Night

  Dominant for the Night

  Actor for the Night

  For more information, please see my social media links:

  http://www.cjfallowfield.co.uk

  https://www.facebook.com/cjfallowfield

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7807992.C_J_Fallowfield

  https://www.tsu.co/cjfallowfield

  Chapters

  Prologue

  Logan Steele

  Eve Myers

  The Workshop

  On the Road

  Countryside Views

  The Loft

  Client Evaluation

  For the Night Series

  Newsletter

  Other Titles by C.J. Fallowfield

  Prologue

  Logan

  My name is Logan Steele. I’m devilishly handsome, seriously ripped, well hung, charismatic and highly sexed. Women just can’t resist me. So when I lost my job in the construction industry and was struggling for cash, I decided to put my assets to good use.

  By day I’m a private personal fitness trainer. By night I’m a high class escort.

  I don’t advertise my sexual services anymore, I have a long client list that come to me through word of mouth. I’m that good that I’m booked months in advance. Scores of women pay me extortionately high fees to fulfil their fantasies. And for the most part I do. I have a strict set of rules that I abide by, which are provided in the full contract that you’ll receive along with the booking form, if accepted. I’ve bullet pointed an abridged version below, just so you’re clear before you send me an email request:

  Rules my clients must comply with are:

  I must see a picture in advance.

  I can decline the booking request without explanation.

  I can only be booked for the night.

  All sexual acts must be consensual.

  I will provide you with a report to complete, then I will choose the setting for our meeting based on your scenario.

  I am flown first class or by private jet if I am required to work abroad.

  In the event of the above, I will provide my dietary requirements in advance.

  I will perform a full background check.

  I base my variable charge on the scenario being requested.

  “No” rules that I stipulate are:

  No bareback.

  No minors.

  No physical violence.

  Nothing illegal.

  No form of emotional attachment during or after the event. I am merely performing a sexual or companion service.

  No contact after the event, unless it is for a new booking.

  And my absolute number one rule, without exception is:

  Full payment up front, which is non-refundable. There is no requirement for a refund clause, I never fail to perform.

  So, now you are aware of my rules for the night and are about to contact me, all that remains to be asked is “Who do you want me to be?”

  Logan Steele

  I flexed my knuckles with a wince, I’d ripped them up pounding on the punch bag yesterday morning, trying to get rid of some anger. It hadn’t worked at all. In five years I’d slept with countless clients and I’d never got emotionally attached to a single one. Except for her. My beautiful angel, Summer Beresford. Ten months ago she’d booked me to take her virginity, to help build her confidence for her first film role in the Broken Promises Trilogy, based on a series of successful erotic romance novels. She’d wanted to tap into her sexuality. While the appointment had some success for her, it had blown my mind and she’d become all I could think about. I’d driven her home the next morning, another first, then turned up on her street again, toying with the idea of asking her out. I’d bottled it, until my green eyed monster raised his ugly head when rumours of an affair with her co-star Daron Beck surfaced the week before her film premiere. I’d turned up and surprised her in a limo, having arranged to accompany her myself without her finding out. After some initial resistance on her part, we’d spent another amazing night together, where both of us had admitted that we had feelings for each other, that we wanted more.

  Sadly things hadn’t gone so well the next morning, when she discovered my real life sexual preference for BDSM and I stubbornly refused to give up my escorting career until I knew if we could work out a relationship. It had been left that I’d given her my private number, a number that was rarer than a picture of Kim Kardashian without her backside in focus. Summer had promised to call me, so we could go on a date as friends, get to know each other, before making a decision how we were going to move forwards. That had been a week ago. A whole damn week of me acting like a lovesick teenager, checking my phone every few minutes waiting for her to contact me. I’d made it clear that the ball was in her court, that I wouldn’t pursue her again. I’d even written a heartfelt note on the slip of paper containing my number, telling her I’d be holding my breath until she called. Well she’d obviously decided she’d rather I asphyxiate, than take a risk and give me a chance. Sure, I knew I was a gamble, I was a male escort for God’s sake, lying was something I’d had to get used to pretty damn fast with some of the vain self-centred women who paid me, but I’d never lied to her. I may be evasive in my personal life, to cover up my career, but I never lied, only with clients. When I’d told her she was beautiful, that our nights together had been the best of my life, that I wanted her like I’d never wanted anybody, that had been the truth. I’d even realised, after she left my place in tears on Sunday, that I’d been a fool refusing to give up my escorting for her, I’d been prepared to give it all up, for her.

  For nothing.

  I cricked my neck and blew out a heated breath, I was getting angry again. I’d never put myself out as much as I had for her, there was obviously nothing else I could do to convince her and I wasn’t going to try. Not hearing from her had devastated me, women around the world desired me, they fought over me, some even tried to blackmail me into becoming their personal fuck toy. There was a reason I was the best, that my reputation preceded me, vi
rtually no one could resist me. Except the one damn woman I actually wanted. The one I was now going to get out of my system by fucking as many clients as was humanly possible, until the pain that saturated my very bones was dulled by an overdose of sexual endorphins. I was resolved that I wasn’t ever going to set eyes on Summer damn Beresford again. Right up until the moment I emptied my letterbox to find her as the headline of my newspaper, yet again. With Daron fucking Beck at her side, his arm around her waist, again. I immediately ripped it to shreds with a growl and shoved the pieces in the dustbin, before throwing myself down on the sofa.

  How the hell was I supposed to forget her? I’d known she was going to be a star from the moment I first saw her photo on that booking request. Since her premiere everyone was going crazy for her, saying she was the next Jennifer Lawrence. Rumours were, that her agent had already secured her a ridiculous amount to star in the remaining two films of the trilogy and he was fielding offers for up and coming projects that were set to make her millions. I was happy for her, she worked hard and was so humble and down to earth with it, but I hated the fact that I was never going to be able to get away from her. She was on TV, the radio, in newspapers and magazines. Before long she’d probably be doing international advertising campaigns for designer brands. I tried to reassure myself that her feelings for me were genuine, that she hadn’t called me because her agent had told her that her career came first, I’d been stupid enough to think mine should, why shouldn’t she?

  I checked my watch, it was nearly time to leave. Eve Myers was my client for tonight, wanting a bad boy biker fantasy. I’d toyed with taking my own bike out, a Harley Davidson Rocker with twin cam engine. It was tricked out in a sexy vivid black and immaculate chrome, just thinking about it got me hard. In addition to the fact that I didn’t want to risk Eve scratching it, I also realised that I couldn’t allow her to see the number plates, or she could try to trace me. Very few people knew my real identity and I wanted it to stay that way. I hadn’t even got around to telling Summer my real name, so I’d be damned if I’d risk it for a thrill with a new client. Instead, I’d hired a VRSC Night Rod Special, in pitch black with orange trim. I’d accessorised my ripped denim jeans, black leather boots, and white t-shirt with a fitted black leather jacket with an orange stripe, to match the bike, that was currently sitting in a workshop in the East End of London, which I’d secured for the night from my mechanic, Ray.

  Eve wanted the real roughing it experience, her explicit instructions were to push her to the limits, to bite her, spank her and pound her until she begged me to stop. As long as I didn’t leave any bruises, which was totally against my code anyway, rough sex was fine, not abusive sex. Well she was going to get it rough for sure. There wasn’t going to be any fancy hotel tonight, it was a mattress on a sleeping platform above Ray’s demountable office in the corner of the workshop, where he sometimes stayed over if he was working late. I still had my standards though, I’d purchased a new mattress, pillows, duvet and linen for the occasion, towels too, which Ray insisted was all the payment he needed if he got to keep them after. I checked the overnight bag I’d prepared, with a change of clothes, my wash kit, the usual stock of condoms and lubricant, not that wetness was usually an issue with any of the women I bedded, the opposite in fact. Most of them creamed their knickers before I even got naked and they set their eyes on my impressive erection. I’d also purchased Eve’s favourite toiletries and some fresh underwear for the morning, all thanks to my IT tech Ian Smith, who accessed all my clients’ financial records and online accounts to discover what they used. I doubted even the FBI would be able to keep him out if he wanted to hack them, assuming he hadn’t already. I smiled as I checked my watch again when my doorbell rang, good old James, punctual as ever. I flung the door open, eager to get out and give myself something else, other than Summer, to focus on.

  ‘Good evening, Sir,’ nodded James.

  ‘Hello, James. Why the face?’ I asked, as I saw him trying to contain a smile.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m just used to you in suits, not this … casual “wanna be bad boy” look,’ he replied, as he indicated with a finger up and down my outfit.

  ‘I’ll have you know that I am a bad boy, for real. I have a Harley in the basement, thank you very much.’

  ‘Then may I enquire why the hell I’m chauffeuring you around at all hours of the day and night?’

  ‘Because I pay you exceeding well to,’ I retorted rather more sharply than I’d intended. James quickly opened the back door of the Mercedes for me and dipped his head as a way of apology, as I folded my tall frame into the back seat. ‘I’m sorry,’ I sighed, as I looked up at him. ‘You didn’t deserve that. I’m not in the best of moods I’m afraid, but that’s no excuse for me taking it out on you.’

  ‘Understood, Sir. Say no more,’ he replied, as he closed the door. I rested my elbow on the door frame as I frowned out of the window, I needed to get my head in the game. This was my career, a career it seemed I’d be having for a long time. If I couldn’t tell Summer I was prepared to quit, then I doubted anyone else would ever tempt me to consider giving it up in the future. James and I remained unusually silent as we drove through London, but a question that I’d been toying with kept rising to the forefront of my mind.

  ‘James?’

  ‘Yes, Sir?’

  ‘Last Sunday, when you took Miss Beresford home, I don’t suppose you found a handwritten note when you were giving the inside of the car a clean, did you?’ I held my breath as I waited for his response, I really hoped he had, that the only reason she hadn’t called me was simply that she’d lost my number.

  ‘No, Sir and I always inspect the cars thoroughly before cleaning them, after every booking.’

  ‘Right,’ I sighed and pinched the top of my nose as I closed my eyes, he’d just blown my last shred of hope to smithereens. So that was it, we were done, once and for all.

  ‘Please tell me if I’m speaking out of turn, Sir, but you seem more out of sorts than normal. Has something happened with Miss Beresford?’

  ‘Precisely nothing has happened with Miss Beresford, which is the reason for my less than amiable mood.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that, Sir. I really thought that the two of you were well suited.’

  ‘So did I, James, so did I. Are we all set for this evening?’

  ‘Of course we are. I gave David the outfit for Miss Myers in the gift box from you, ready to deliver at precisely seven-thirty, then he’ll go around to the servants entrance to pick her up at eight o’clock, as planned.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s up to the task?’ I enquired. Eve’s lineage meant that she rarely went anywhere without a bodyguard tailing her. She’d asked me to ensure that my driver would be skilled enough to shake him, James had personally recommended David.

  ‘Honestly, Sir, he’d give me a run for my money behind the wheel.’

  ‘You’re not saying he’d actually drive at the speed limit?’ I grinned, with a mock gasp.

  ‘I’m only being respectful of you in the back seat,’ James responded, with the closest to a scowl I’d ever seen on him in the mirrored reflection.

  ‘Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself,’ I winked.

  ‘What are you doing a week on Tuesday?’

  ‘Talk about random,’ I laughed.

  ‘You’re casting aspersions on my driving ability. I’m going to prove that you have no idea what I’m capable of. If you’re free I’ll pick you up at eight a.m. Every other month I spend a day at a race track, practicing on their formula one speed track, off roading, the skid pan and rally course, keeping my skills up to date. I’d suggest you wear an adult nappy, in case I make you ruin those fancy designer jeans you’re so fond of.’

  ‘An adult nappy?!’ I let out a loud guffaw of laughter. James never failed to cheer me up.

  ‘So do we have a date, Sir? A very male platonic, I’ll make you eat your words, date?’

  ‘We certainly do, James. We certa
inly do.’

  ‘Then be thankful I didn’t invite you to my Krav Maga class, I’d wipe the floor with you and you’d need help to change that soiled nappy, as your wrists would be in plaster casts.’

  ‘James,’ I chortled. Deadly and funny. He was a breath of fresh air, fresh air I’d been in desperate need of.

  ‘Do you have a change of clothes for when I collect you in the morning? I don’t fancy spending my Sunday cleaning grease or oil off the leather. Mrs. Smith and I have plans.’

  ‘I have a change of clothes, yes,’ I replied. ‘It’s not my first day on the job. What plans do you have?’

  ‘O I couldn’t possibly tell you that, Sir, or I’d have to kill you,’ he winked in the mirror, making me smile again. It really was a pretty shitty state of affairs, when my chauffeur was the only person able to put a smile on my face in a whole damn week.

  Eve Myers

  ‘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.’