CHEAP SMUT: Four Erotic Romance Novels (Boxed Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  I smiled as I stared out at the display, only to see the someone’s head clearing the top of the roof and peering down below.

  The unmistakable “Whoop” of Biscuit making a cat-call made me giggle, and I waved at him from the carriage.

  “Congrats, Motherfuckers!” I heard Jackson scream.

  “All of this,” I said as I waved toward the fireworks. “You’re amazing.”

  “No, you’re amazing,” he said.

  “I’m just surprised…” I paused and shook my head.

  The next day was November 9th, the anniversary of our first kiss. I found it odd he didn’t wait until the next day to propose.

  “What?” he asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders and admired my ring. “Nothing.”

  “Surprised I didn’t wait ‘till the 9th?” he asked.

  I nodded my head. He pointed to his watch. “It’s the 9th. It’s been the 9th for some time now.”

  I realized it was past midnight, and the 9th of November.

  A true romantic, the love of my life had just proposed to me on the anniversary of our first kiss. Directly above us the fireworks continued to explode, illuminating the sky entirely. I pointed up at the sky, down at my ring, and shook my head.

  “What?” he asked.

  “This,” I said.

  “What about it?” he asked.

  “This is the money shot,” I said.

  He grinned and pulled me in for a kiss. “It sure is.”

  And it was. The perfect night. The perfect man. The perfect romantic moment. If our lives were ever written into a book, it would be the perfect…

  Money shot.

  EPILOGUE

  AXTON BISHOP

  The fellas in my club weren’t simply friends, brothers, or people who I expected to have my back when times were tough. Each and every one of them was a part of a machine. In the absence of one man, the machine would be incomplete. In the absence of some men, the machine would break down.

  It took time, but Vince had become a critical component in the machine. Without him there was no doubt in my mind, the machine would cease to exist.

  I held my head high and walked as straight as possible. It was something I had never imagined I would have to do, but I agreed to do so as a matter of respect. Well, that and I couldn’t imagine anyone else doing it with such devotion.

  The slight tug on my right arm reminded me of my commitment. I blinked my eyes, lowered my chin, and waited.

  He shifted his eyes upward and gazed at me blankly. “Who gives this woman to be married to this man on this beautiful day?”

  “I do. Axton Bishop,” I responded with a proud nod.

  “And, Mr. Bishop, do I have your blessing to move forward with this ceremony of marriage?” he asked.

  I lowered my chin and smiled. “Yes, Sir. You do.”

  Sienna pinched my arm.

  You little shit.

  The pastor motioned for her to come forward. I stepped aside, turned and walked to the open seat beside Avery and sat down.

  It seemed strange for me to be dressed in a tuxedo for a biker wedding, but I should have known Vince wouldn’t do anything traditional to the one percenter. He was a romantic at heart, and I admired him for it.

  The pastor shifted his eyes throughout the crowd. The entire yard was decorated and filled with chairs, a stage, band, and rented dance floor. Vince’s mother’s home was perfect for the wedding, and she sure seemed excited to plan the event entirely; no expense had been spared.

  “Marriage is a solemn institution to be held in honor by all, it is the cornerstone of the family and of the community. It requires of those who undertake it a complete and unreserved giving of one's self. It is not to be entered into lightly, as marriage is a sincere and mutual commitment to love one another,” he said.

  He turned and exchanged glances at Vince and Sienna. “This commitment symbolizes the intimate sharing of two lives and still enhances the individuality of each of you.”

  “Will rings be exchanged as a symbol of this union in marriage?”

  Vince nodded his head and motioned toward the ring bearer. Biscuit grinned, raised the silk pillow, and waited as Vince removed the rings and handed them to the pastor.

  “A ring is a circle with no beginning and no end. Love without end is what we hope to achieve in marriage. As this ring is placed upon your fingers remember that it is your love for one another that has brought you here, and it is that love that will guide you down the pathways of your lives.”

  The pastor turned toward Vince and nodded his head.

  Vince gazed into Sienna’s eyes and held the ring in his hand. “I promise to you to have all the patience required to comfort you through the life we share and as we grow and learn to love one another. I promise to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and understanding of all you may need, desire, or require of me. Above all, I promise to love you today and every day following no less than the previous, and to never anger beyond what words cannot repair.”

  The pastor nodded his head.

  Vince slipped the ring on Sienna’s finger.

  The pastor turned to face Sienna.

  She grinned, reached for the ring, and held it between her fingers. “I promise to be understanding of your needs, accepting of your shortcomings, and open to your requests of me. I promise to be loving of you now, tomorrow, and for every day we share, and to place my love for you above all other needs. Above all, I promise when you do anger, to be patient, and allow time to pass and wounds to heal, for man is imperfect, and the world knows this to be fact.”

  The pastor nodded his head.

  Sienna placed the ring on Vince’s finger.

  “Repeat after me,” he said. “With this ring I make this vow to you before God, before witness, and before my brothers.”

  They each repeated the vow.

  “Stephen Vincent Ames, do you take this woman to be your wedded wife? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, remaining faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

  “Yes, Sir. I do,” Vince said.

  “Sienna Ghee Boyco, do you take this man to be your wedded husband? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and in health, remaining faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

  “I certainly do,” Sienna responded.

  The pastor glanced at each of them and bowed his head slightly. “Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  They kissed a kiss I damned sure wouldn’t have kissed at my wedding. After a few get a room remarks were shouted by various Sinners, they separated and turned to face the crowd.

  I couldn’t have been more proud of one of my boys and his new wife. I turned toward Avery, smiled, and kissed her.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you,” she responded.

  Avery looked remarkable in her dress. She made me proud in what she had done with Jackson, work, life, and finally making amends with her parents. One day I would make her my wife, I was sure of it. When the day came, I would stand proud before my brothers and take the vow with honor and respect.

  As the evening turned into night, and the alcohol became part of the occasion, the DJ tapped his finger on the microphone and got everyone’s attention.

  “I’d like to make an announcement,” he said. “It’s time for the father-daughter dance. The song chosen was by the daughter, and I want to make sure everyone in attendance is ready. Axton?”

  He motioned toward me with his free hand.

  Oh shit, that’s my cue.

  It was the least I could do for a member of my family whose father was deceased. Participating in the dance was a matter of respect.

  I turned to the side and reached for Sienna’s hand, fully expecting a slow dance. She raised her hand in the air and pulled it away from me as she shook her head. When she kicked her shoes to the side, I realized I m
ight be in trouble.

  I wrinkled my brow and stared.

  Her mouth curled into a smirk as she turned her head and shouted over her shoulder at the DJ.

  “Hit it,” she said with a nod.

  The music started and the floor began to shake. It wasn’t what I expected, but I had given my word I’d do the dance with her. Without hesitation, I grabbed the lapels of my jacket, pulled it off, and tossed it to Anita. I couldn’t wear a jacket and dance to the song she’d chosen, there was no way.

  I glanced around the dance floor. Every person in attendance had their eyes on me.

  And as “Christmas in Hollis,” by Run DMC played, I came to realize although we were all Selected Sinners, we were all different.

  But for that moment, Sienna and I were exactly the same.

  And I danced like it was the last time I would ever have a chance.

  KARTER

  An Erotic Novel

  Scott Hildreth

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to any and all friends of Bill W.

  Copyright

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

  Unbroken 1st Edition Copyright © 2014 by Scott Hildreth

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at designconceptswichita@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Covert art by Jessica www.creativebookconcepts.wordpress.com

  PROLOGUE

  “What in the fuck is this? Are you God damned kidding me? I told you to get wet and fucking sandy. Didn’t I? That’s a piss poor excuse for wet and sandy. You’re going to fuck around and kill a teammate from your team, aren’t you?” the instructor bellowed as he pointed at my wet and sparsely sand covered torso.

  I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and attempted to scream, “No sir.”

  The sound emitted from my mouth was scratchy and weak. I had completed the five mile run in an unsatisfactory time and was being punished for it. The human mind is simply incapable of comprehending the depth of the physical conditioning necessary to complete training to become a Navy SEAL. Regardless of a recruit’s intent, devotion, desire or perceived state of readiness prior to arrival; to actually be physically, mentally or emotionally prepared would be impossible.

  He pointed toward the ocean and began screaming a blood curdling howl, “Run back out to the US Navy’s Pacific Ocean and dip yourself in it Jack-off. The Navy built this beach for me to drown you in, did you know that? I’m sick and motherfucking tired of screaming your name. Get wet Jack-off, and get sandy. Wet and fucking sandy. Lives depend on it.”

  The instructor’s voice had become horse during our short duration of training. I was certain the sound of his strained vocal cords was solely due to my lack of ability. He had spent the majority of his time screaming at one person and one person only.

  Me.

  Exhausted, I ran as fast as I could and dove into the ocean face first. As I landed, sand and small sea shells filled my mouth. I closed my eyes to protect them from the salty water and waited for the next wave to wash over me. Now soaked from head to toe, I rose from the beach and ran the distance from the edge of the water to where he stood waiting. Satisfied I would be relieved of my punishment and sent to join the remainder of the class, I planted my boots firmly in the sand and attempted to stand erect. He stared at me as if I had committed a sinful act. His eyes resembled what I expected the devil’s to look like. As his face began to quiver from what was undoubtedly a fit of anger, he opened his mouth and did his best to scream.

  “You’re not going to make it. You’re a fucking idiot. Please do us both a favor and D.O.R, Jack-off. Drop out. Ring the fucking bell three times and go join the fucking Army. You’ll never be a SEAL. I gave you simple fucking instructions, Jack-off. Wet and motherfucking sandy. You ran to my fucking ocean and washed your stupid self off, didn’t you? You took a fucking bath in my God forsaken ocean. I gave you two tasks; two things, Jack-off. Wet and what? What was your mission?”

  I stood and stared, confused.

  Go get wet Jack-off and get sandy.

  Shit.

  Wet and sandy.

  I had forgotten the sandy portion of his instructions. Five days into this phase of training and I would likely be killed by the instructor in a fit of rage. If not, only two and a half more years of punishing training and I would be deployed as a Navy SEAL. I parted my lips and moved my sandy tongue to the roof of my mouth, attempting to clear it of the debris from the beach.

  “Wet and sandy,” I responded in a gravelly tone.

  He crossed his arms over his massive chest, “Are you fucking sandy, Jack-off?”

  I lieu of responding, I dropped to the surface of the beach as if my legs had been cut from underneath me. Flat on my back, I frantically flipped my arms through the sand, doing my best to cover every respective inch of my wet torso with the small granules. Satisfied my entire body was completely covered; I scooped up a handful of sand and dumped it onto my wet face.

  Silence.

  He’s not screaming, he must like what I’m doing.

  I reached out and retrieved another handful of official US Navy sand. I opened my mouth and released it onto my face. As the sand filled my mouth and fell into my throat, his voice broke the silence.

  “This is the first thing you only half fucked up today, Jack-off. In the time it took you to complete the task, I’m sure no less than three of your teammates would have been killed. You’re only concerned with yourself. You’re wet and sandy, but three men have died in the process. Outfuckingstanding. Get out of my face. Go away. I feel ill. Your incompetence and lack of desire is making me sick,” he barked.

  I jumped to my feet and attempted to run. As I brushed the sand from my eyes, I saw my class standing along the beach in the distance. Assembled into seven-man boat crews and holding rubber rafts over their heads, their bodies shook from exhaustion. My tired legs quivered underneath me as I attempted to propel myself forward. As I stumbled toward my class in an unintended zig-zag pattern, my mind filled with wonder. Without a doubt, upon my arrival yet another instructor would start punishing me. In the eyes of the instructor and the US Navy, at least one of the teams would be one man short until I arrived. In my mind this class would always be one man short.

  Graham and I had agreed to join the Navy together. We went to the barber and had our long locks of hair buzzed off as a team. We walked into the recruiter’s office side-by-side, and after an assurance of being able to receive our training together, joined under the US Navy’s buddy program. We were inseparable. We were invincible. We were best friends. Settling for nothing short of becoming Navy SEALs, we began training at home as we waited for the day we were scheduled to ship off.

  Graham never made it to training. An accident a week before shipping out ended his life at seventeen years of age.

  I closed my eyes and attempted to find a few ounces of inner strength. As my boots dug into the loose sand, I swung my arms and screamed. Now in an all-out run toward my class, I mentally prepared myself for what may be next.

  The only easy day was yesterday.

  KARTER. “Hi my name’s Karter and I’m a drug addict.”

  “Hi Karter.”

  “I think I’ll just listen.”

  “Thanks Karter,” the group said in unison.

  The thought of a group of people attempting to shove God down my throat and assuring me if I didn’t find him, I couldn’t make improvements to my life was a bit more th
an I was willing to try to listen to.

  Or believe.

  To me, God had always been a ghost. Something half the people believed in. The other half was split in two, the portion who wondered, and the portion who didn’t believe.

  And I didn’t believe in ghosts.

  “Karter, you need to share,” she strung my name along until it was two five-second long syllables separated by one overly long period of silence.

  I slowly turned to my left and looked over my shoulder in disgust at the counselor who partially blocked the doorway into the meeting room. It was day one in what was to be a twenty-eight-day drug rehab program, and I was attending my first twelve step meeting. My problem wasn’t drugs. My only real issue, if there was one, was my mouth.

  “Isn’t it some form of invasion of privacy? You being here? I think you should be in your fucking office and let us advance through this program at our own pace. This meeting is for addicts, not assholes,” I smirked slightly and blinked my eyes repeatedly.

  “I am an addict Karter, just like you. Please share with the group. Anything. Say something, even if it’s a small something,” she pleaded softly as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  The group remained silent as they waited for me to speak. The room smelled like the combination of a cafeteria in a shitty hospital and a wet can of coffee grounds. I rolled my eyes and turned around. I surveyed the numerous faces and eventually became focused on the wicker basket in the center of the table. I stared at the small pile of folded pieces of paper and considered what to say.

  I looked around the room.

  Sixteen, including me.

  All I needed to do was complete the program, go in front of the judge and convince him I was a drug addict. If he believed me to be in the process of recovering, I would get my driver’s license and my life back. Even I should be able to make it twenty-eight days.

  “Hi my name’s Karter and I’m a drug addict,” I paused and raised my fingers to my mouth.