Romance: Motorcycle Club Romance: Outlaw Biker's Baby (Contemporary Alpha Male MC Biker Romance) (Bad Boy MC Biker Pregnancy Romance) (44 page)

''Be patient. Very soon,'' she said as she felt his erection pawing at the inside of his pants.

He followed her up to her
bedroom
and sat on the bed as she undressed. When she was
naked,
she stood in front oh him and looked at his face.

''You don't want to do this, do you?'' she said.

''I'm sorry. I would love
to,
but it's.......''

''Go,'' she said as she reached for a gown.

''We had a lovely evening. Go. Maybe we'll meet again in another fifteen years.''

''Thanks, Elvina. I didn't mean to......'' She put her finger to his lips.

''It's okay, really.''

Outside Sam slumped against an oak tree that hung it's leaves over the pavement. He turned his phone on and waited. Ten text messages, all from Lizzie and three missed calls.

''Lizzie?''

''Sam, thank God. What the fuck are you
playing at
? I've been worried sick about you. Where are you?''

''In Flushing Creek.''

''Where the hell's that?''

''Five hundred miles from you. It's the town I grew up in.''

''Do you want to explain to me what you are doing there and why you sound so drunk?''

''Lizzie, I'm sorry. Can I explain everything tomorrow?''

''No Sam. You've been ignoring me. I want to know why and I want to know why, now.''

''Er.....do you know I was asked to appear before the Ethics Committee?''

''Yes. I heard. That's why I was trying to get in touch with you.''

''Well, things got a bit out of
hand,
and I told the Dean to fuck off.''

''Yes, I know that as well.''

''How?''

''His secretary called me. They are worried about
you,
and so am I.''

''They don't give a shit about me. All they want is to see me ruined.''

Lizzie tutted. ''Stop feeling sorry for yourself and be a man. What's the matter with you? They hold you in very high regard.''

''Then why did they suspend me?''

'Because they made a mistake Sam. I've been looking at the Ethics
Charter,
and they shouldn't have suspended you. We didn't have a relationship until weeks after I stopped being a cheerleader. The Dean is
wrong,
and we can appeal it. But not if you keep running from me.''

''You know I always do this when I get close to someone?''

''Yes. You told me you
have
an issue with commitment. Well, it doesn't matter Sam. I don't want you now. You can go to hell. Anyone who ignores me like you have is an ass-hole and doesn't deserve me. All I want to do is help you get your job back.''

*****

Sam wasn't sure whether he was still under the influence when he began the drive back to Westchester. It was five am and he'd finished drinking about one am. But
he
didn't care, all he wanted to do was get to Lizzie's apartment as quickly as possible.

When he finally got there is was four
pm,
and he was exhausted. He wearily climbed the steps to her apartment and knocked on the door.

When Lizzie
opened,
she was wearing red lingerie and a pair of black hold up stockings.

''What took you so long?'' she asked.

''What?''

''I thought you would have been here earlier.''

''You told me you didn't want me. If I remember
correctly,
you told me to go to hell. Now you greet me in sexy clothes and ask where I've been. I'm confused.''

''Did you think I
was being
serious?''

''Of course.''

''No, I didn't mean a word of it. But it got you back to me didn't it.''

''You cunning.......''

Lizzie squealed as he lifted her
from
her feet and carried her to the bedroom. ''I'm going
to really teach
you a lesson for that,'' he said.

''Okay, but don't ever run away from me again. Either commit to me here and now or go forever,'' she said.

''I love you. I want you. Now stop talking while I undress you.''

Lizzie stood
patiently
as Sam unhooked her bra. He stood back to look at her breasts, his gaze making her shy. ''Stop glaring and do something,'' she said.

''You are so beautiful.
How can I not glare at you?'' He put his hands on her soft mounds and felt how heavy they were. ''My God I've wanted this moment for a long time.''

As he
spoke,
he felt her nipples
stiffen,
and her breathing
become
faster. ''So have I,'' she said. She started to take off his shirt. Underneath she saw how well
defined
his muscles were.

''I need a shower,'' he said. ''It's been a long journey.''

''Take my things off and I'll come with you.''

''With pleasure,'' he said.

He knelt in front of her and put his fingers inside the waistband of her panties. His touch was warm on her skin as he slowly slid the thin material down past her shapely thighs and let it drop to her ankles. His eyes
were drawn
to the perfectly manicured landing strip in the V between her
thighs
.

''Now you,'' she said. She unfastened his belt and pulled the top button on his jeans open, and slid his zipper down. She put her hand
into
his pants and felt for his penis. She felt it jump when she touched it. ''Wow. You're not going to disappoint me are you?'' she said referring to his size.

He slid his pants and shorts
down
and stood up so she could look at him. ''No, I hope not.''

When he stepped out of the tangled mess of his pants and shorts, she took hold of his hard shaft and led him into the bathroom. When she'd rolled her stockings off, she turned on the water and pushed him into the shower.

As the water cascaded over them, she pushed him down onto his knees and thrust her groin toward his mouth. She cried out when his tongue touched her wetness. She pulled his head onto her and lifted a leg so he could have easier access to her.

As his tongue made long strokes over her, the tiny hairs on his chin tickled her. ''That's so
nice
,” she gasped.''Don't stop. Right there yes.''

He continued until her legs were shaking so violently she could no longer stand. She hadn't reached orgasm when they left the shower. They fell onto a towel on the bathroom floor. He pushed her legs apart and put his mouth to her once more. Soon she began to feel her pleasure welling up, causing her belly to stiffen and her hands to paw at the skin on the back of his neck.

''You smell
wonderful
,'' he said raising his head for a second. ''So young and fresh. Come for me.''

When he resumed, he took her over the edge. She thrust her hips from the floor and ground herself on his face until she became too sensitive and pulled away. ''My God,'' she gasped as she rolled onto her side. ''
That was great
.''

''There's plenty more where that came from,'' he said. She loved the shape of his legs and the
fine
dark hair that covered them. His chest was
strong
and his biceps bulged when he moved his arms. His penis pointed to the ceiling, and his balls
were taught
against his shaft. They looked so inviting she couldn't help herself.

''Stand up,'' she commanded.

He stood above her as she began to kiss and lick his balls. They were
coarse,
and the skin rippled. Her tongue played delicately in the folds, teasing him, making his shaft painfully hard.

''Nice?'' she asked.

''Yes, very.'' He was enthralled by the sight of her red fingernails on his scrotum as they tweaked his skin teasingly. When she slipped a finger between his legs and began to massage him there, it drove him wild. He rolled her onto her back, pushed her legs as wide as they would go and thrust into her. Lizzie screamed as he parted her, his penis rubbing over the most sensitive places her body possessed.

She loved the sight of the muscles in his arms straining as he held himself above her. His thrusts were long and
firm,
and she had to hold onto him to prevent herself from sliding away from him.

''Fuck me harder,'' she pleaded. ''Make me come again.'' She saw him grit his
teeth
and felt his thrusts increase in intensity as he pounded her. Soon her body
stiffened,
and her
face became
motionless as a huge rack of pleasure surged from her womanhood. He stopped deep inside
her
until her orgasm released her from the spams it had held her in for many seconds. She gasped for breath and smiled at him.

'’You are so pretty,'' he said.
''I love the sight of you when you come.''

''Take me to bed,' she said. In the heat of their passion she'd ignored the hardness of the tile floor but now she wanted softness.

He put her down on her belly and mounted her from behind. ''If you want to know, this is my favorite position, he said. ''I can see all of you from here. Your beautiful ass, your back, your shoulders. You're so
hot; I
don't know how long I can last.''

''Just screw me and shut up,'' she said, eager to feel him moving in and out of her. He gripped her soft hips and pulled her onto him. She gasped and cried out as he began to slap himself against her buttocks. The feel of his penis, as it slid in and out of her, and the
feel
of the vibrations his hips were causing as they slammed
against
her, made her scream and
come
once more. She buried her head in the pillow and groaned. He was insatiable and quickly exhausting her.

''Give me your sperm,'' she said. ''I want it inside me.''

He grunted, shoved into her a few more times, and remained stock still as he gave her every last drop of what she so craved.

''
That was great
,' she said as she rolled onto her back. ''Are you okay?'' she asked when she looked at him. He was bathed in sweat and breathing hard.

''Fine, I didn't know I was so out of condition,'' he gasped.

''Maybe you ought to join your players on a run or two,'' she said.

''So that's what having a young wife is going to be like. Daily runs and
serious
screwing in the evening. I'll soon be back in shape.''

''Wife?'' she said.

''Er....no I meant,''

Before he could
finish,
she put a finger over his mouth. ''I like wife better than whatever you were going to say.''

''Me too,'' he said.

''Are you sure? You won't go running away again?''

''No. I won't. You are the one for me. Of that, I have no doubt. We will be a rock solid couple.

*****

Lizzie found out six weeks later that she was pregnant. Sam was so thrilled he paid
for the team
to have free drinks all evening in BJ's. He even told Cora she wasn't that bad after all.

Fatherhood brought a gentler, more understanding side to him which helped no end in training his players. Suddenly there was a bond and results started to come again. By the time his son was three, Sam was being
hailed
as the best collegiate football coach in the
county
.

A year later, he'd been poached by the NFL, where he earned so much money the financial security of his family was guaranteed forever.

Lizzie finished her studies but chose to be a full-time mom. She had four kids whom she idolized. She and Sam never divorced. They were happy together for the rest of their days.

*****

THE END

''Screw this lock,'' Peter said, taking the key out to make sure it wasn't bent. ''Screw this apartment, screw this area, screw the whole world.'' He put down the bottle of wine he'd bought a few minutes earlier and inserted the key again.

''Maybe if you put your weight
against
it,'' Marion said. He turned the key and at the same time rammed the door with his shoulder. The door flew
open,
and he fell into the apartment, landing in a drunken heap on the doormat.

Marion picked up the bottle and stepped over him, anxious to open it and have another drink.

''Nice place,'' she said, already in the kitchen rummaging through the drawers to find a corkscrew.

''It's far from nice,'' Peter said. ''
In fact,
it's the worst place I have ever lived in.''

Peter looked at the phone and saw a light flashing. He pressed the red button and listened.

''Peter, where the hell are you? Probably out with one of your little tramps, getting drunk. Do you know what today is? It's Max's birthday. Remember Max, he's your son. We didn't expect you to send a present, but you
could
have
at least
called him. You were a lousy
husband,
so I guess I shouldn't be surprised you turned out to be a lousy father.''

Peter slumped against the wall next to the phone table and closed his eyes. How the hell did it come to this, he thought?

''Haven't you got a corkscrew?'' Marion shouted. Peter went into the kitchen and threw open a drawer. He pointed. Marion was relieved.

Marion was one of the regulars at the Dragoon Inn, a pub on Grafton Way, in central London. She was a legal secretary by day and a drinker and flirt by night.
She
'd had her eye on Peter Flowers for some time. She was bored screwing lawyers and
businessmen
. She wanted to bed a different kind of man, and Peter answered that description. He was very different from her usual type. He never wore a suit, always black jeans, black shirt and gray jacket. She'd never seen him without his
trilby,
and she liked the fact his wrists
were covered
in tribal armbands.

Peter had a variety of places to stop off at on his way
home;
the Dragoon was one of them. He went there a couple of times a week.  Marion had first noticed him
two weeks
earlier. She'd made the first move. Sitting at the bar alone, mulling over why his marriage had failed so badly, he'd been grateful for her company.
What's more,
he was charmed by her wide eyes, blonde hair and the way she rubbed her breasts against his shoulder when she sat down.

He didn't speak of interest rates, court rulings or the state of the national debt like most men in the Dragoon. He
spoke
to her about the new play at the Alhambra and about the latest book he was reading. A book about a divorced man and how his wife bled him for every cent she could. He told her he loved Rembrandt but not Picasso, and how long the queue usually was to get into the museum in Florence where Michelangelo's sculpture of David
was housed
.

By the time they'd finished their first glass of wine, Marion was already desperate to be naked with him. It wasn't just his artistic nature that attracted her to
him,
though. He was also very handsome. Tall with dark brown hair and blue eyes, his facial features reminded her of a smoldering film star. His chin was robust and his jawline angular.

After a few more glasses, she invited herself back to his apartment. It was just around the corner.

''Why do you think this apartment is
nice
?'' he asked.

''Okay, it's not nice,'' she tossed her bleached hair back. ''It's in a seedy part of town, and the door doesn't open very
easily
. It's the kind of apartment you would expect a divorced man to
live in
. But what I meant by
nice
is how you have decorated it.'' She turned the corkscrew one more time and pulled.
Nothing happened
, she gave the bottle to Peter.

He grunted as he pulled and almost
fell backwards
when the cork gave in to his onslaught. ''Decorated? I haven't done a thing to this place,''

''The paintings, the sculptures, the books. I love it. It's
messy,
but I love it.'' She walked to the door which led
to
the small lounge. There was a set of bookshelves on the far
wall;
the shelves bent by the weight of the
heavy
volumes they were carrying. There was a sculpture of some Greek Goddess, Marion didn't know. She sat down on the red sofa. ''No TV?'' she asked.

''I hate TV.'' He sat next to her. ''What the hell is ever on TV that is of any interest? When TV
was invented,
the world was full of hope for
its
role in society. It was supposed to inform and educate. It has failed miserably on both fronts.''

''Kiss
me,
Peter, I want you,'' she said. ''I've wanted you since I first saw
you.
You're different.''

''How so different?'' he asked rolling the stem of the wine glass between thumb and forefinger.

''You're artistic,
sensitive,
and you know how to talk to women.''

He laughed. ''Tell that to the bitch I was married to for eight years. She hates me.''

Marion took the glass from his hand and put it down on the floor. She put her hand on the back of his head and pulled him to her.

*****

A lot of boats cruise the Thames, most of them observe the speed limit. Just occasionally one goes far too fast, causing a huge wash. Such incidents were an occupational hazard for Marcella. She lived and worked on a houseboat just down from Battersea, a suburb of London.

''For heaven's sake,'' she spluttered as the boat shook. At the beginning of the
week,
she'd decided to start a sculpture of a javelin thrower.  At the moment the boat
started
to bob up and down, she was making delicate lines in the athletes forehead. Second time today, probably the same
boat
on it's way back, she thought. She put a strand of loose hair behind her ear and prepared to start again. At that
moment,
she cursed as the phone rang.

''Miss Horner?'' the voice said.

''Yes,'' Marcella said, trying not to get Plasticine on her mobile.

''It's Jamie Smith. From the bank.''

''Oh, yes. Hi.''

''Have you got a moment?'' he asked.

She looked at the
half-finished
sculpture before her. ''Yes.''

''It's about your account. I'm afraid you've gone over your overdraft
limit,
and we need to ask you to add some funds.''

Money, always money, she thought. ''Er....yes....I'll see what I can do.''

''I'm afraid until then you won't be able to draw any cash our use your credit cards.''

''I understand,'' Marcella looked out of the window at the sunlight shimmering on the water. ''Well thanks for letting me know.''

When she hung up, she sat down on the stool and wondered how she was going to be able to comply with his demands.

''Hello, hello. It's only me.'' It was Joyce, Marcella's middle-aged hippy neighbor. She was standing on the quay next to Marcella's Dutch barge. Marcella walked out of her studio and onto the deck at the stern of the boat. When she looked up at
Joyce,
she had to shield her eyes from the sun.

''What's the
matter,
dear? You look terribly pale,'' Joyce said.

''Come on board. Coffee?''

Joyce walked across the gangplank and waited
for Marcella
to walk back through the boat and open the side door.

''Marvelous boat, this,'' Joyce said. That's what she said every time she visited.  Joyce was a forty-six-year-old divorcee who had decided to sell her house and live on a boat. She was tall with prematurely gray hair a
very large
bust. She was terribly
forthright,
but Marcella liked that. ''Now tell me what's the matter.''

''Money, as usual.'' Marcella took two mugs
from hooks
above the sink in the galley, and put them down on the table Joyce was
sitting at
.

''Money. It's ironic isn't it?''

''What?''

''You the daughter of an Earl, one of the land's richest men, yet you have to struggle like this.''

''But you know the story, I've told you a hundred times. He won't give me a penny because I chose to study art. He wanted me to study law or
business,
but I'd rather be poor.''

Joyce looked at her. Marcella was still very young, just twenty. She looked like one of the young debutantes Joyce saw in magazines sometimes. She was aristocratic in appearance, her shiny black hair flowing down over her shoulders, ending halfway down her back. Her eyes were crystal clear pools of blue and her skin bronzed. Joyce had long since given up on her
figure,
but when she was
younger,
she remembered having
a figure
similar to Marcella's. Slender around the waist with curvaceous hips supporting
a tiny
behind, and a bust that pushed forth to meet the admiring gaze of any young man.

''If I'd had children, I'd like to
think
I would have treated them better,'' Joyce said.

''
At least,
I've got this boat. I love it.''

''Yes, it's the finest
houseboat
around. Your grandmother loved it too.''

''I'm so lucky she left it to me when she passed away. I will treasure it forever.''

''That was another anomaly. Your
grandmother
living on a boat. Wasn't she  Lady Simmons from Harwood?''

''Yes. She was very
posh
but alternative.'' Marcella poured hot water onto the instant coffee she'd put in the mugs and added milk. ''Did you want something or is it just a social call?''

Joyce was bored. Her usual tactic was to pretend she wanted to borrow something, so she could hang around and chat. Marcella didn't mind. She liked
Joyce;
she was her type. Arty. ''No just a social call. How are you getting along at college?''

''It's hard. Its' the London Academy of Arts, they expect a lot from their students.'' She took a sip of coffee and scowled. ''More sugar?''

''Sugar? If I have
sugar,
it'll have deposited itself on my hips by five o'clock this afternoon.''

''Do you want to have a man again?'' Marcella asked. She never heard Joyce talk about men.

''I'm off men for life. Divorce kills you. I don't want to go through that again.''

''But you could have a casual lover.''

Joyce burst out into a loud bout of laughter. Marcella grinned at her, wondering what was so funny. ''My dear, wait until you've had more experience with men. Men want it all. You may think you've got a casual lover, as you call it, but very soon they come
round
with their dirty clothes and ask you to do the washing.''

Joyce looked out of a porthole and saw two legs standing next to the boat up on the quay. ''You see. Here's your casual lover.''

''Hello,'' Mike shouted. ''Permission to come on board.'' Marcella looked at Joyce and smiled at the face Joyce pulled. A grimace.

''Yes,'' Marcella shouted.

Mike was very tall and had to stoop to get through the door and down into the galley. ''Mike, nice to see you,'' Joyce said.

Mike ignored her. ''I don't know why you live on this boat. It's far too small.'' In fact, the barge wasn't small at all. The only
narrow
bit was the entrance
into
the
galley
. Through the
galley,
there was a large sitting room and further down a corridor, two bedrooms. Each bedroom had
its
own
bathroom.

''Come out for lunch,'' he said to Marcella.

''Sorry Mike, but
I'm snowed
under with work.''

''But it
isn't really work
is it? I mean you make models.''

Why the hell does she bother with this man, Joyce asked herself? Okay, he was handsome, but he was a prize buffoon who had no understanding of his
girlfriend’s
passion for the arts. ''Of course it's work,' Joyce said. ''You work in a bank.
That's not work,
that's robbery.'' Joyce laughed heartily
again,
and Marcella wanted
to,
but didn't.