Biker's Virgin (An MC Romance)

by Claire Adams

“So are you,” I breathed as I made my way toward him. The wine was pounding its roaring arousal through me with hurricane force. I stood before him and slid my panties to the floor. I traced a line down his abs until I locked a finger in the band of his briefs and helped him out of them.

  I fell back on my bed and pulled him on top of me. He immediately resumed trailing kisses over my body. As he did, I fumbled around in my bedside drawer, desperately seeking a certain little item I knew to be there. In a moment of triumph, my fingers found it.

  Emerson threw my legs over his broad shoulders, grabbing each of my thighs as he spread my legs wide. His mouth was on me with no hesitation, tongue flicking over every inch of my most private flesh. I arched my back, tossing my head back and forth, moaning with pleasure. My breathing surged violently. My hips bucked up to meet his talented mouth in rhythm with the pulse rushing through me. It had been an eternity since I'd orgasmed so strongly; my whole body was shaking.

  Finally, I couldn't wait any more. “Here,” I said, breathing heavily as I pulled his head up from between my legs and thrust the condom into his hands. “I need to feel you inside me. Now.”

  He gasped, pausing in his enthusiastic bout of running his mouth up my stomach. He ripped open the wrapper with his teeth and slipped the condom out, rolling it over his cock with expert speed and fluidity. He positioned himself over me and started to slide his hard shaft into me. I was wet and ready, but even so, it had been a long time and I felt a sliver of pain spark through me.

  “Oh, oh God, wait, slowly, slowly…”

  “Damn, you're tight,” he gasped. Emerson gradually slid inside, causing my eyes to roll back into my head. I was losing my mind with freshly awakened passion, each soft thrust sending bouts of pleasure rippling through me. He kissed me with slow, languid pleasure while, in contrast, he had a firm grip on my hips as he pushed into me in complete control, sinking deep into me over and over, relentlessly.

  “Please, Emerson,” I cried into his ear. “More. Please.”

  He pressed his body against mine and surged in and out of my wetness, faster and harder, just as I had requested. I could feel the first stirrings of an orgasm as he continued. “Oh God, oh God, yes, yes, yes,” I moaned as the pleasure grew more and more intense. I tried to keep quiet, but it was too much. It felt too good.

  He was thrusting madly now--almost with a speed that seemed beyond humanly possible–and that's when my orgasm started to tear through my body, sending convulsions of raw bliss and ecstasy through my every extremity.

  A loud moan escaped, and he covered my mouth with his to quell the sounds of my intense, wall-shaking orgasm. He gasped and drove himself into me one last time, shuddering and convulsing with the force of his own orgasm as his rock-hard member throbbed its explosive power within me.

  With that, he collapsed, shivering and trembling with pleasure. He slipped his fingers through mine, and we gripped each other's hands as we lay together in a tangle of sweaty, shivering limbs and damp sheets, both breathing as hard as if we'd just sprinted a marathon.

  Emerson rolled over on his back and pulled me next to him without saying a word. He caressed my cheek, ever so gently, and looked deeply into my eyes. Then he ran a finger through my hair and kissed me slowly and gently. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered to me. “So, so beautiful.”

  He continued to caress and kiss me softly as the last waves of my orgasm died out.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Emerson

  The sun hadn’t even made an appearance when my eyes opened. My head was feeling a bit fuzzy from all the wine I’d consumed the night before. For a moment, I was certain I was dreaming. I had to blink a few times to focus in the darkness of the room, but sure enough, it wasn’t a dream. I was naked, lying next to Brooke.

  I stared at her while she slept for a while. God, she was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that plastic girls like Melissa could never be. I ran a finger gently across her cheek, brushing her skin lightly with my fingertips. It was impossible to resist touching her, even though I didn't want to wake her. She stirred in her sleep and the slightest hint of a smile appeared on her lips.

  I kissed them lightly, and she half-opened her eyes. “Emerson,” she sighed and smiled at me as she shifted a little, moving closer to snuggle up next to me.

  I instinctively wrapped my arms around her. “Good morning,” I whispered as I placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “I've gotta go see my dad now. Go back to sleep.”

  “What t-time is it?” she mumbled.

  I glanced at the clock on her nightstand. “It's around five in the morning. Shh, go back to sleep,” I coaxed in a quiet tone, not wanting to disrupt her too much.

  “Mmm, okay,” she whispered and dozed back off.

  I gently disengaged myself from her embrace and reluctantly got out of bed. It wasn’t even remotely what I wanted to do. I wanted to stay. I wanted to have a repeat of last night, only without the influence of too much wine. But I also wanted to see my dad, so, I got dressed as quietly as possible and tiptoed out.

  Once back in my apartment, I checked the day’s weather and then packed a backpack with some clothes and a few essentials before I set out on the six-hour ride up to my dad's place. I put my helmet on, thumbed the starter, and prepared to go. On the horizon, the first golden silvers of sunlight were appearing. It was a nice day for a ride and the weather was supposed to stay clear. I'd be off the interstate before most of the morning commuter traffic hit, and from there, it would be backwoods country roads without too many other vehicles.

  A few hours later, I pulled into a gas station and parked my bike outside of a meager diner attached to the gas station. I dismounted and stretched my limbs. After riding for almost three hours straight, my wrists and back were a little stiff. An old man dressed in grimy dungarees and a tattered baseball cap stared at me as he chewed on a stalk of long grass. I was out in the sticks, alright. Mountains stretched to the verge of the horizon and old forests stood sentry at the edges of the road. It was picturesque, to say the least.

  I reached into my pocket for my phone, intending to take some pictures of the scenery and send them to Brooke who would surely be awake and on her way to class. That's when my heart stopped.

  My phone was gone.

  In a panic, I patted all of my pockets thinking maybe I'd put it in a different one.

  I hadn't. I always kept it in the left front pocket of my jeans.

  And then I looked at the jeans I was wearing—the same pair from the previous night—and I cursed myself for my stupidity. These were the jeans that my phone always fell out of when I was on my bike. The design of the pockets meant the phone sat at an angle when I was on the motorcycle which, unfortunately for me, was the perfect slant for it to work its way out of the pocket while I was riding.

  It had happened twice before but, luckily, I had noticed the phone falling out and been able to retrieve it. For that reason, I’d always tried to avoid wearing this particular pair of jeans when riding. However, in my haste and early morning grogginess, I had kept them on. And now my phone had fallen out, possibly a hundred miles back or something. It was gone for sure, probably smashed to bits under the wheels of cars and trucks.

  I shook my head and cursed. Not that there was anything I could do about it. I'd just have to wait until I got back to talk to Brooke. I headed into the diner for some coffee and a snack, losing my phone just one more thing to add to my feelings of uncertainty about the twenty-four hours ahead of me. Despite my worries about Dad, Brooke was occupying my thoughts, as well. In fact, I found myself replaying the previous night over and over in my head as I drove the final three hours. Thankfully, when I arrived, hanging out with Dad kept my mind off of her for a bit.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brooke

  I rolled over and brought my hand down on my alarm. My head was still a little foggy. I definitely wasn't used to drinking that much wine. I rubbed my eyes and tried to make sense of the partial memory of
Emerson kissing me and saying he had to leave while it was still dark at five o'clock in the morning. And then all the memories of what had happened the night before came flooding back.

  Emerson and me.

  His hands, all over me. The warmth of his mouth on mine. Our bodies pressed together, writhing, sweating, moaning with the intensity of it all. A smile grew on my lips and my cheeks warmed at the thought of it. I couldn't wait for it to happen again. I lingered in bed, replaying the events that had led up to the best sex I’d ever had. While I did, it hit me. I was ready. I was finally ready to move on. Everything that had happened with Andrew had finally been consigned to the past. I smiled. Just knowing I had moved on made me happier than anything I could think of with the exception of last night. It was going to be a long two days.

  I was eager to see Emerson. In fact, I was positively craving his presence. I had no idea what had come over me. And as selfish as it was to want him with me knowing how serious the situation with his father was, I still wished he hadn’t left.

  That didn’t mean we couldn’t at least talk, though. I checked the time and picked up my phone. I'd need to get ready for class. I dialed his number anyway. But it went straight to voicemail. I didn't bother leaving him a message. Instead, I shot him a text message and then put my phone in my bag as I headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. I figured he was probably on the road and he'd see the message and reply when he stopped.

  Still, when I came out of the bathroom, I checked my phone to check if he'd replied. I shook my head at my behavior and looked myself in the mirror. “Stop it, Brooke. Just because the sex was amazing doesn’t mean you should stalk the guy. You know better.”

  I nodded at myself as if I understood and walked away. After last night, I needed food.

  ***

  It was almost six o'clock in the evening when I finally got home. I was tired, cranky, more than a little hungry, and there still had been no word from Emerson. At first, I'd chalked it up to him being on the road. It’s hard enough to drive a car and text, it was impossible to do that on a motorcycle and I didn’t expect or want him to. But he surely had to have reached his destination by that time and would have seen the message waiting for him on his phone. I had tried calling a couple more times, but it always went straight to voicemail.

  In my head, I started going through all the possible reasons he wasn’t answering or texting back. Perhaps he was feeling too emotional to talk to anyone, especially considering how worried he had been about the surgery scheduled for the following day. Maybe he’d been in an accident. Maybe his battery had died and he just hadn’t gotten around to charging it.

  Then, there was the possibility he could be ignoring me deliberately.

  That thought sent flushes of uncomfortable heat prickling along my skin. What if my initial suspicions about him had been right all along? What if he'd been acting like a caring, decent guy just so he could get me into bed?

  Of course, the way he had made love to me had been entirely unlike the way a self-centered, egotistical player would have done it. Or, at least, I didn’t think that would be the case. Not that I had a lot of experience with the sort. It was, however, getting harder and harder to keep the doubts from slipping in. Then, naturally, the memories of what Andrew had done to me started clawing their way back into my mind.

  I plopped down on the couch, heat bubbling through me like acid. What was going on? Could my worst fears about this situation really be the reality of it?

  I picked up the phone and tried to dial one more time.

  Straight to voicemail, yet again.

  I was just about to lose it when Leslie walked in the front door. She knew I'd been getting closer to Emerson and that he'd made me dinner the previous night. What she didn't know was that he had stayed the night. I debated briefly whether I should tell her about it or not. I decided not to. Not yet. Not until I had a better idea of what was going on.

  “Hey, Bee,” she said as she walked into the living room. “How was your day?”

  “Uh, it was a day,” I replied.

  She stared at me with her head tilted for a few moments. “Something’s not right with you. What's the matter?” she asked.

  “Um, I've just got a headache,” I lied. “I've been going all day and don't think I had enough water to drink.”

  “Oh, well I think there's Gatorade in the fridge. You should have some. Electrolytes will help you rehydrate.”

  “Yeah, good idea,” I replied. “What about you? How was your day?” I added quickly, trying to shift her attention away from me.

  “Oh, probably like yours,” she said with a sigh. “A million things to get done and not nearly enough time to do 'em all. And, this week is gonna be hell, too. I've got so many tests, I think my head's gonna explode. Seriously, I'm about to go crazy. I'm gonna have to spend every damn night this week studying late. And if that jerk next door makes a single peep, I swear I'm gonna rip his steroid-filled head off.”

  I chuckled nervously. “Let's hope he doesn't,” I said.

  “Maybe you should tell Emerson to pass the message on to his not-so-considerate buddy. Ya know, so I don't have to go over there and tear things up when that fool makes a racket.”

  “I can't,” I announced. Immediately, I felt as if I'd said too much.

  “Huh? Why not?”

  “He's away until tomorrow night. He had to go see his dad. He’s having some pretty major surgery tomorrow.”

  “Oh, wow, alright. Well, I hope his dad ends up being okay.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “Well, like I said, lots of studying to get done. Drink some Gatorade to rehydrate; you look a little pale. Then, hopefully, your headache will go away. And eat something.”

  “Yes, Mom,” I teased.

  Leslie smiled. “I'll be in my room with my head buried in these books for the rest of the night if you need me.”

  “Alright. Good luck.”

  I watched her until she closed her door, then I took out my phone to check it one last time. Still no word from Emerson. I felt like an idiot. There was nothing I could do about the situation, so I curled up on the sofa and turned on the TV. There was no point in trying to concentrate on studying. All I could do for the moment was simply distract myself.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Emerson

  I couldn’t help but remember the last time I’d paced the floor of a hospital waiting room. My grandmother had gone in for heart surgery. That was almost as nerve-wracking as waiting for the doctor to come out and give us some news about Dad’s procedure. Anne tried to keep my mind off it by asking about how school was going and other random questions. I figured it was as much for her own sanity as it was for mine, so I finally took a seat next to her and played along with her twenty questions.

  When the doctor finally entered the private waiting area he assured us that the surgery had been successful and everything had gone exactly how they had hoped it would. It was reassuring to hear my dad would make a full recovery and be back to one hundred percent health in a matter of weeks. I couldn't wait to tell Brooke. I only hoped she didn’t try to text or call while I was gone and think I was ignoring her, especially after what had happened between us Sunday night.

  I didn’t stick around as long as I would have liked after Dad’s surgery. I’d already missed two days of classes, and I didn’t need to miss a third. So, after he came out of his drug-induced stupor and before they could settle him back into another one, I talked to him for a few minutes and hit the road once his second round of pain meds kicked in.

  It was around midnight when I got back into town. As I turned the last corner onto the road in front of my apartment building, flashing blue lights caught my attention. There were two police cars parked in front. We didn't see many cops in our area, so I hoped nothing bad had happened.

  I pulled up to the curb and parked my bike, apprehensive and a little worried as I stretched my back. I walked up into the building, intending to
drop off my backpack at my place and then see if Brooke was awake so that I could tell her the good news--and explain way I hadn't been able to contact her or be contacted for two days.

  I opened the front door of my place and stepped in, dropping my bag as I did--and I immediately froze. There were four cops standing in our living room, and Chris was sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. Ciara and a few of her friends were standing around looking guilty, as well.

  One of the cops shone his flashlight in my face. “Well, well, well. You must be Emerson. Am I right?” he asked.

  “Uh, yes sir, that's me,” I replied uneasily.

  “At least this one has some manners,” he said as he glanced at one of the other officers in the room. “You and your roommate here have a regular ol' liquor store up in this apartment, don't ya?”

  My blood ran cold. “Um, uh, I…” I stammered, not knowing what to say.

  “I hope you're not going to try tell me all this alcohol in here 'isn't yours' or that you're 'keeping it for a friend' or some bullshit story like that. We hear that all the time, kid, so don't waste our time. Now, I'm gonna ask you this once, and you're gonna tell me the truth. Remember, it's a felony to lie to an officer of the law. Are you twenty-one years of age or older?”

  My mouth went dry; I could hardly even talk to answer. “Um…”

  “Well, son? Are you or are you not?”

  “I'm not, sir.”

  “Let me see your driver's license.”

  I pulled my wallet from my back pocket, fumbled around in it with trembling fingers and pulled out my driver's license, and handed it to the cop. He took it, looked it over and nodded as he handed it back to me.

  Another man in uniform came out of the kitchen holding a camera. He tapped on the side of the camera as he spoke. “Alright, boys, I've got all the evidence we need right here.” Obviously, he'd just taken pictures of our stash of beer and liquor. I felt like throwing up.