by J P Books
“Fuck me, daddy,” she begs.
As one, the men thrust into her. Their strong legs work like pistons as they drill her furiously, all the months of pent-up desire finally breaking loose. The lights dance and flicker before her eyes and Paisley doesn’t hold back. Screaming in ecstasy, she digs her nails deep into Chris’ shoulders as she feels them fill every inch of her again and again until she can’t take any more; until all she can feel is the throb of their cocks filling her body with pleasure.
“Oh YES!” Paisley howls, her head thrown back as, finally, her orgasm crashes through her. Faintly she can hear the men groaning as they finish as well, but she’s too delirious to take it in.
Very, very slowly, Paisley returns to the land of the living.
“Oh my god,” she pants, slumping back against Carter’s slick chest. “Holy shit, I forgot how good this is…”
Chris pulls out of her, chuckling. “We didn’t,” he replies.
Carter laughs as he gently slides her off him. “Been thinking about it for four months now,” he agrees.
Paisley lets her body go slack in Carter’s arms as Chris sits on the floor, leaning on their legs. “Do you guys think about me when you fuck each other?” she asks. Then she bites her lip. “Sorry, that was—”
“Of course we do,” Carter laughs. “Only thing that could make the sex better would be having you there.”
Paisley feels warmth rise in her. “God, it’s good to be home,” she says, without thinking.
Chris smiles up at her. “It’s good to have you home,” he tells her.
Paisley can’t believe how lucky she is. Sure, she never really had a mom – even less so these days once Megan found out she spent the summer with Chris – but Paisley doesn’t care. She has the best daddies in the world.
THE END
Her Biker Protectors
CHAPTER 1
Alexa
Reaching over to adjust the radio station, I can see and feel my hand shaking.
Pissed off, I grip the wheel hard, refusing to give in to my nerves.
I’m pissed at myself for somehow getting into this situation, but more pissed off at Matt for bringing me to this point.
It’s nearly unbelievable, I think to myself. It’s something that you hear about in the news but never think could possibly happen to you. Not in real life. Not in a million years.
I can feel hot tears prickle behind my eyes and I slam my back against the seat as I take a deep breath, refusing to give in to the urge to break down.
Not here. Not now. Not yet.
I still have a long way to go before I can even think about having a meltdown.
I don’t even know where I’m going. Which is good, I think. If I don’t know, he can’t know.
I pulled out of my home in Las Vegas a few hours after it got dark, knowing that he’d be working at the casino until the early hours of the morning and not able to follow me for at least eight hours. Probably more.
By then, I could be nearly in Colorado or New Mexico. I can’t go to Arizona or Utah, he knows that I have friends and family there. I have to go further.
The teen fiction series I’d been reading recently was set in New Mexico and for no other reason than that, I had a vague destination in mind.
I doubt Matt will think to reference my books when he tries to track me down. And he will try. I can feel my heart racing again as the thought demands attention.
Matt will not give me up easily.
How could a person change so much in two years? When we first met, I had thought he was my soulmate – love at first sight means forever, doesn’t it?
Forever in paradise lasted about three months, but it took me over a year to really accept it.
It had been so easy to just shrug off his little comments at first. He must not realize how offensive it sounds or how much it hurts me when he makes those little digs at my outfits or weight, I thought to myself.
He just misses me and wants to spend all his time with me, I told myself firmly when he started grilling me about my business meetups and client sessions. Jealousy means he loves me, doesn’t it?
For a while, it was fun to send him little love texts throughout the day to let him know I was thinking of him. Sometimes it was even hot, adding a little teaser to the message to make sure he was looking forward to getting home to me at the end of his day.
But it wasn’t so fun when I got too busy to text, or if I forgot. At first, the yelling was just at home. I’m sure our neighbors could hear, but nobody ever said anything. But eventually, not even my regular texts made him happy. He’d make a scene when we were out on dates, having a great time one minute and then the next he’d freak out on me when I mentioned a client or a project I was working on.
People at the restaurant or movie theatre would turn to look at us, some of them annoyed at the disturbance, some of them giggling like it was taboo to watch some couple fighting in the middle of the day. Every now and then I’d catch the eye of another woman, and her look would either be of pity or anger. The pity made me want to throw up.
I’m a strong, independent woman. I own my own business, pay my rent and keep myself alive, I’d scream in my head. Don’t pity me!
But part of me knew why she was giving me that look. And that part of me cringed and hid away in the dark corners of my mind, too embarrassed to even admit that I knew something was wrong.
The looks of anger made me angry in turn. Not angry at Matt, as I’m sure the stranger was feeling, but anger at the stranger, looking into our lives and judging us. How does she think she has the right to judge, I’d rage in my mind. She doesn’t know us. He could be totally justified in yelling at me right now. It could be totally my fault!
But I’d always known it wasn’t my fault, and that unknown woman was right to be angry. But that part of me didn’t want to be wrong and crawled to hide with the embarrassed part of me.
Two years Matt and I had been together. And at least 1 and a half of those years I spent cringing and confused and wondering what the hell I did wrong. Instead of acknowledging the warning signs, accepting that the problem was with Matt and not me, I internalized them. I took responsibility. I figured that the man, the beautiful, funny and kind man I had fallen in love with, must have a reason to act the way he was. I must be giving him a reason.
It was my fault our happily ever after was in jeopardy. I needed to fix it.
I spent more of my time trying to fix what was wrong with my relationship than I did trying to have a responsible, functioning adult life. My friends gave up on me eventually, when I had ignored their warnings too many times. My freelance business was suffering. Turns out clients don’t love it when you have to break every half hour to use your phone, no matter what your excuses are.
So when I finally broke up with him, I didn’t have a lot of support to turn to. No friends and a floundering business. But I had finally left him, I cling to that thought proudly.
It should have been enough. I should have been able to pick up the pieces and start putting them back together. If I worked harder on my business, I know I could convince clients to trust me again - I'm a damn good designer and my portfolio should speak for itself.
I was sure I could work my way back into my friends’ lives too, with time and effort.
But he wouldn’t let me go. I don’t know why I was surprised.
Even though I didn’t answer his texts, he would send them. Sometimes 50 or more a day. He was always so sweet, but I knew better. I stayed strong.
Until the one time I agreed to meet him for coffee. I finally got tired of the messages and thought that if he heard it from me directly, maybe it’d sink in. Maybe then he’d leave me alone.
But that’s when he threatened me.
“You were nothing before me. You’re nothing without me. If you don’t come back to me, I will make sure nothing at all is left of you.”
I can still hear the words
in my mind, feel his fingers digging into my arm. I absently rub the spot that had been bruised for a week, remembering.
Of course, I had gone to the police, but they did nothing. I had no real evidence. He didn’t have any kind of record and I had never reported any of his behaviors before, so there was no credibility to my accusation.
They said they’d start a file, but that was all they could do. Start a file, I fume. Start a fucking file, I can feel the shakes starting again, but I can’t stop the memories from flooding back.
Three days had gone by without a word from him. I thought maybe he had realized how far he had gone and regretted it. Maybe he had finally decided to chill out and leave me alone.
But today he had shown up at the coffee shop where he knows I meet all my new clients. I don’t know how he knew I’d be meeting someone, but he did.
Only 5 minutes into our discussion, he stormed through the door, yelling and throwing his arms around, accusing the poor guy I was meeting of being my lover. Calling me a cheating whore in front of everyone there.
My never-going-to-call-me potential client was just a young guy, obviously shy and he had no idea how to handle the situation. He just squeaked his chair back and bolted out the door.
The manager of the coffee shop came over and told Matt to get out. I’ve never been so grateful to anyone in my life.
Matt didn’t argue with him, he just took one look at the phone in his hand and said, “Sorry buddy, I didn’t mean to cause a scene. I just over-reacted.” And then he looked at me and said, “I’ll see you at home, after work, baby,” with a look in his eyes that said he knew where I had moved and I better be there when he showed up at my door.
The coffee shop owner shook his head as he watched Matt leave and told me I should dump the asshole, but then just went back to work.
I considered asking him to act as a witness for me and to come back to the police station to report it again, but I didn’t want to drag him into my drama of life.
I knew I couldn’t stay in town though. I couldn’t stay at home. I couldn’t be there when he showed up.
I waited, shaking over my coffee for two hours before being brave enough to leave. I went straight to the police office to register the second complaint. They said if I could provide a witness they’d take it more seriously, but otherwise, it would just be another note on file.
So now I have two notes on a fucking file and I’m terrified for my life.
And then I went home, threw a few outfits into my suitcase and waited for it to get dark.
I didn’t want anyone to see me leave. I didn’t want him to be able to get any information out of my neighbors. I wanted so desperately to just disappear.
When I finally crept out the door, carrying my bag and trying not to make any noise, I had to stop myself from running. Walking casually was the hardest thing I think I’ve ever done in my life.
And now, here I am, on a desert road with a single bag of belongings and no real clue of where I’m headed.
My first stop had been at the bank, to take all my money out so I wouldn’t have to use credit cards or leave any trail. I left my phone on the bed. I don’t know how people track other people, but I didn’t want to take any chances with Matt.
I just got in the car and started driving. I didn’t want to take a direct route anywhere, so I kept turning off towards places that might be where I would go.
Head towards the Grand Canyon, but don’t go there. Maybe that will throw him off for another few hours.
Take backroads when I see them. I’m not in any hurry to get anywhere specifically. Just to get away. And to make it as hard as possible to be followed.
That’s what I had done about half an hour ago. Taken a back road, off the highway. I’d been driving for over eight hours, stopping only to fill up on gas and grab snacks and lots of coffee for the road. I’d had a few pee breaks but was very careful to choose rest stops that were either very crowded, and one person would go unnoticed, or very rural, where there was no one to see me at all.
So far, so good.
But now, glancing down, I see a little red light start blinking on the dash behind my wheel. That little red light throws me out of my reverie and makes me really pay attention to my surroundings.
The sun is just beginning to rise and I can faintly see the smoke wafting from the front hood of my car. Alarmed, I pull over to the side of the road immediately. Opening up the hood lets out a billow of smoke and I start to panic.
I don’t know anything about cars! I don’t have a phone. My map shows the nearest town to be around 60 miles away if my guess is at all accurate.
What the hell do I do now?!?
Feeling the overwhelm start to take over, I sit down on the ground by my front tire, with my head in my hands.
This is still better than being at the apartment, I think to myself. It’s better to be stranded who knows where than to be there when he shows up, which is probably any minute now. It’s so much better that I have an eight-hour head start.
Someone will drive by, I grasp the thin string of hope. Someone has to drive by and help.
CHAPTER 2
Adam
“Tell me again why we needed to leave this fucking early?” Parker glares at me over his coffee cup, which he’s gripping like it’s a life preserver.
“I want to get back to town. We should’ve been there last night. You’re the one that wanted to break up the return trip home, now you get to pay the price.”
These road trips always seem like a fantastic idea until the ride home. Somehow we never remember how unappealing it is to hop back on our bikes at the crack of dawn after a long, late night of booze and babes.
This time, Parker had begged me to let him sleep in yesterday, suggesting we get a hotel after ten hours, and then get up early the next day – which is now today – for the rest of the ride home.
It was actually a pretty good idea. Well, it worked out for me, anyway. But then again, I didn’t drink my face off last night, whereas Parker did.
Four hours on a bike at the crack of dawn while hungover is not much more appealing than fourteen.
Watching him gulp his coffee and grimace at the state of his head I can’t help but chuckle.
I toss his helmet at him and nod to our bikes, ready to go. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, which means there’s a bit of a chill left in the air, but in the desert, underneath our riding leathers, you learn to appreciate that. As soon as the sun shows up, even with the wind howling in our ears as we race down the highway, it’s fucking hot. I’m looking forward to getting home before the worst of the heat sets in.
Giving in with a resigned shrug, he straddles his bike and straps on his helmet. I follow suit.
“We taking the back way?” he asks.
“Yeah, I think so. It’s quieter.” The back way means we find side roads or two-lane highways that roughly parallel the I-40 on our way back into New Mexico. As the crow flies, it’s a lot longer, but it’s also a lot less busy. I hate riding the massive highway. Too many idiots trying to prove something.
Taking the back way is a new adventure every time we do it. We never take exactly the same route twice, but we always make it home.
As we hit the road, I let my mind return to the events of the past few days.
An image of a gorgeous, tanned and naked blonde with huge tits flashes across my mind, but I shake my head as if to physically remove it. That’s not the kind of thinking that I need to focus on right now.
What I need to figure out is what the fuck we’re going to do about our business.
Yes, LA is a fun physical diversion from our stressful jobs in private security, but this time we went there with a motive beyond sticking our dicks in the hot, wet and willing babes that seem to flock to the city with no other goal than to get laid.
This time, we had gone for a business meeting.
And we had left that meeting feeling more hopeles
s about getting our new business started than ever.
Don’t get me wrong, private security is a great business – if you’re looking to make fast, fat stacks of cash and maybe thrive off the adrenaline like a junkie.
When Parker and I started the business a few years ago, it had made sense. We were fresh out of the Navy, oozing with pride and bravado at our SEAL titles. Security gave us an outlet for the highs we could only chase through potentially dangerous situations and let us put our talents to a respectable use.
I know plenty of ex-military who get back home and fall into a deep depression because they have no orders to follow and no clue what to do with their lives. Or the PTSD sets in.
I shake my head again. This is not helping either.
What are we going to do about the new business?
The idea of starting up a motorcycle gear company came to us while we were on one of these road trips. We’ve been riding together since we settled in Roswell, drawn to the military vs. sci-fi mystique that radiates from the city.
Over the years, our trips have gotten longer and our obsessions have grown deeper. Aside from our work, bikes are our lives.
A few months ago, we had taken a ride down to Houston and gone to a bar that did not take kindly to a couple of outsider bikers. A few idiots tried to make something of it. One lunker followed me to the bathroom. Parker followed him and knocked a few of his teeth out before I even unzipped.
The gang left pretty quickly after that, and we were treated to the company of some hot cowgirls who did take kindly to outsiders in leather. While they fawned over Parker, and he entertained them with tales of how I had saved his life one time when we were on a special op, I had a private conversation with a tiny little redhead who fit just right on my lap.
She had been showing me quite nicely just how eager she was to have a ride herself when a random comment wormed its way into my brain and wouldn’t get out.