Hard Core: Biker MC Motorcycle Club Menage Steamy 3 Story Bundle Set (Hot Tales From a Hard Road Book 1) (9 page)

“This is your stop.”

She could step right off and onto the sidewalk. She stayed on the bike seat. “Take me with you.”

“Now I know you’re crazy. Come on, your Daddy’s probably in there somewhere. Go find him.”

“You really don’t know anything about my Daddy, do you? He isn’t at a desk waiting for a phone call. If he wasn’t in one of the leading cop cars, he’ll be in that chopper you left behind.”

“Then he’ll come and find you.”

“Take me with you.”

“Why?”

It was hard for her to answer, so she just told him the truth. “I don’t know why. It’s what I want, is why.”

She didn’t even know his name. Tiffany wondered if that was a part of what made her want him, need him so very badly. Looking at him made her ache.

Chapter 14

The dark, velvet blue sky was thick with splashes of tiny stars. Faraway clouds drifted across the high, bright moon. He guided the big bike around long sweeps of road, up and over rocky hills, and out onto a high plain. He parked up by a ridge.

She sensed that he wanted to talk, as did she. There were things that she needed to have said, things she needed to know, along with
 
some things that she wanted to hear. But not yet.

She watched his eyes flicker in the twilight. He took her face in his hands and looked in her eyes a long time. She opened her arms and reached for him. He gathered her up to him, bringing her face to his. Their lips took nips and tastes of each other, both holding back, both straining.

Her mouth opened to him. His tongue met hers and mingled. Their heat melted and melded them together.

His chest muscles and biceps vibrated with his shaky breath.. Her breath shook, too. As he pressed into her, her foot slipped on the dirt and her eyes widened. In that moment, she was even more in his power than she had been, locked in the tiny room. There was no one here. No one for miles. There were only him and her.

She bit her lip and sighed as he pushed her to the ground. She wanted to be lost in him, swept away. She wanted everything obliterated. Here in the hot, dry desert breeze was perfect.

“Make it all go away,” she whispered. His strong arms held her down, pressed between her breasts, and reached up to her throat.

“Only protect me,” her voice trembled.

He seized her. He pulled off her clothes and he opened her.

He breathed her, tasted her. His hair brushed the soft skin inside her thighs. He ate greedily between her quivering lips and folds, and up to the base of her nub. His tongue flicked, vibrated with moans, and lapped hungrily. He made her hips writhe and thrash, and he held her down.

He pushed and drove the flow of her rhythm. He licked, sucked, and forced his sensual, muscular tongue up into her walls to push and press high inside at the front. Currents thrashed and beat within her, jagged splinters of lightning that sparked and spread out in unbearably delicious spasms.

Her back stretched and her feet stamped on the dirt beneath her. He was pitiless. His strong lips tenderly took her inside and out, rocked, rode and ravished her. At last, he pressed and sucked her into a deep, hard, slowing beat. She crushed his head between her thighs, she crested, cried, and felt herself gush into his waiting lips.

She quivered, shook into his mouth, and her body thrummed.

Then he lifted her hips and his huge shaft drove into her, stretched her and filled her. Her soft, wet flesh was dragged apart around his hard, beating rod. On his knees, he held her hips up and her head thrashed from side to side. Her mouth opened as she watched the glistening skin tense over his terrifyingly perfect body.

She watched as his body rolled in rhythm, his hips snaked and his muscles rippled.
 
She watched his stomach clench. Her body furled and flowed, the force following faster and finding her currents crash, brim, burble, and burst into torrents of wave after wave, crashing, splashing, and exploding from the powerful shaking in her core to the wild clench of her fingers and the cramping crunch of her toes.

She watched his brow knot while as his rhythm overtook him and he pulsed unbearably hard inside her. Her eyes watered and her mouth opened wordlessly as his hot bolts beat and fountained into her, through her, and filled her.

Epilogue

For a long time, they didn’t speak.

She had never known anything like it, felt anything like it, or even considered wanting anything like it. The desert was the perfect place. This man, this biker, was the perfect man for her.

She was lost between crying inside for how shocked and horrified she was, and weeping for how childishly complete it had made her feel. She wasn’t sure that she could ever live a day in her life without it.

His eyes narrowed and he chewed his lip as he looked into her face. “Okay. I’m going to send a text ahead.” She smiled to see that he pulled out an iPhone, out-of-date, just like hers. Identical, only his was black, of course, and hers was white.
 

They dressed. He climbed back onto the bike and fired up the engine again. As she climbed on behind him, she asked him his name, unsure if she really wanted to know. She didn’t hear his answer as the machine sprang forward beneath her.

She hung on tight behind him and put her arms around his strong body, felt him swing and sway the heavy two-wheeled beast. Something tugged at the corner of her mind. She’d probably never see her own iPhone again.

They were headed across the red and brown desert plain when the thoughts came together for her. On that first day, in the warehouse, when he called her Daddy, how had he been able to use
her
iPhone? There’s a passcode. How did he get by that?

The Stray Sister

“Those aren’t your Momma’s bikers.”

Jesska raised an eyebrow at the barista. A big, good-looking boy, Carter had been one of the football stars in school, which was one reason Jess didn’t get to know him back then. Now he served in a coffee shop, which was one reason she didn’t get to know him now.

“I saw you were looking at the Blades outside.” He gave her his big thousand-watt smile. Jess was glad of her shades.
 

“Yeah, what do you mean, Carter?”

“They aren’t the kind of bikers that pretty students and housewives have exciting affairs with. The Blades are the kind that deal in drugs and guns. They’re the kind that keep brothels, that do serious crime and hard time.” Carter wanted to put her off, obviously.
 

If he believed that was the kind of talk to do it, then he was even stupider than Jesska thought.

Chapter 1

On Jesska’s nineteenth birthday, she made her first visit to Poison Wells in the Nevada scrub, to the clubhouse of the Blades motorcycle club. If big sister Tiffany knew her intention, she would have smiled indulgently and said, “Well, okay, but I’ll come along. It’ll be fun.” That meant she would come along and take most of the fun out of it as she took care of her little sis., and looked out for her. Daddy would get to know about it, too.

Jess didn’t want any of that, and so she went alone. She parked up out of the way, somewhere dark near the unkempt shrubs where her ride wouldn’t be seen. It would draw a hail of scorn if the hardcore bikers clapped eyes on it.

She stepped past the line of low, fat Harleys leaned up by the hitching rail, and up onto the wooden platform. Uncertain still, and with a dizzying flurry in her stomach, she reached out to push on the door. It flew open in front of her.

Ancient heavy metal cranked out of the room, and a huge biker filled the dark of the doorway. He wore a cut-off leather jacket and a thick beard rolled over the black Motorhead t-shirt that draped over a gut as big as he was wide.

His eyes twinkled when he saw her short, tight little frame. She was big in all the right places. His teeth showed and he asked her, “You a dancer?”

“I can dance. Why?”

“Free admission for a pole dance.”

She watched as his grin parted the thicket on his face. “I’ll provide the pole.”

“So,” Jess replied, “Admission is free with a pole dance, otherwise admission is no charge. Is that right?”

A couple more bikers had turned to watch. Jess heard one of the others call the big man ‘Bear.’ It fit. “If you want to be a hang-around, honey,” Bear told her, “certain duties are involved.”

“Oh, and I thought this was someplace where an independent soul might enjoy a whiskey in peace and good company. My mistake.”

Jess had turned to leave when a low voice from inside said, “She passed the take-no-shit test, Bear.” The bikers chuckled.

Keeping her cool and standing her ground seemed to have earned her some credit. Bear stood aside and waved her in with a comical bow, “Enter. Drink and be merry,” he said. Her stomach flipped again as the follow-on—
for tomorrow we die
—popped into her mind, but she kept it to herself.

Jesska had dreamed of hanging out in a motorcycle club for as long as she could remember. Now that she was here, she felt a simmer of panic bubble in the pit of her stomach. She was determined to tough it out. She would have a couple of drinks, and meet some bikers. Leave early. Just get the feel of the place.

She realized that if anyone asked why she was here, her answer would sound lame. Anything she could think of would sound lame in the thick and thumping clubhouse atmosphere.

She crossed the threshold and stepped into the darknesslights and the noise. Bear said, “C’mon, I’ll buy the first one for you.”

“No,” Jesska said, “I’ll buy one for you.” but her attention was snatched by a pair of eyes glowing out of the shadows of the crowded bar room. They belonged to a big, black-haired biker with a long, neat mustache. He leaned over a table and clearly dominated the three bikers sat around it.

Somehow, Jess was sure that these were the eyes of the man who told Bear that she’d passed the test. A shudder went through her as his dark eyes held hers. He was appraising her, looking over her soft, generous curves and taking in the creamy slope of cleavage, swelling now and fluttering as her breath caught in her throat. If a boy did that to Jess anywhere else, she’d have gone right up to him and either spit in his eye or hit him. In here, she was an outsider, he was not, and the atmosphere was not on her side.

Conscious now of how short her black leather skirt was, she made her way through the crowd of heavy leather and denim. She drew appreciative notice from most of the male eyes as her vision adapted to the low, colored lights. Her ears adjusted quickly enough to the pump and grind of vintage Motorhead.

Two girls danced around poles on a raised platform, one blonde and one redhead. They wore loose, ripped t-shirts, torn stockings, very high heels and very little else apart from glitter.

At the heavy, polished wooden bar, Bear called, “Hey, Gyro,” but the bartender was already on his way over to Jess. In a broad-brimmed leather hat and with a thick, carefully curled mustache, the stocky bartender looked like he could be in a twenty-first century version of a Wild West saloon.

He had the courteous manners to match, as his green eyes twinkled and he asked Jess, “What will be your pleasure, ma’am?”