DAMON: A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel

by Meg Jackson

  “Oh, god, Boon,” I cried into the night as his hips met my ass, his cock plunged entirely into my hot pussy. My muscles contracted around him, embracing him, squeezing it as he began to thrust into me, slowly at first and then gaining speed. Each time his dick pushed against that spot, I felt explosions in my mind, felt my skin tingling, each grain of sand a dot of pleasure.

  My hips ground backward, my ass pressing towards him, my body knowing. Faster, harder, we ground against each other, our skin audibly smacking against each other, his cock pounding down into me even as I tried to thrust upward. He was powerful, stronger than me, and I felt my body sink deeper and deeper into the sound with each thrust. I felt the pressure building in my pussy, that ball of pleasure getting tighter, smaller, hotter, more electric, my muscles tensing and buzzing, his cock driving into me relentlessly, no respite from the blinding pleasure, the rising wave, the pressure, more and more and more until

  “Fuck, Boon, I’m commminngggg,” I cried out as my body shook in the agony of ecstasy, my muscles releasing in a single, rolling wave of relief, my pussy milking his cock as he held it deep inside me, that ball of pleasure finally exploding, expanding, sending bubbles of delight upwards through my entire body. My hips rocked back and forth, my pussy grinding into the sand, my hands clenched in desperate fists. I panted, shaking, underneath him, my muscles weak and lazy.

  As I felt the last waves of my climax begin to fade, Boon leaned down and grabbed my arms, pulling me up, backwards, onto my knees. My head lolled on my shoulders, my neck not even strong enough to support it, my body totally drained from the orgasm.

  I leaned back against his chest; he was kneeling behind me, his cock still inside me but tipped upwards. His hands came to my belly, moved upward, brushing sand away as they reached my breasts. He fondled them gently, drawing a moan from me. I couldn’t believe that I’d ever recover, but I actually felt myself becoming more alert, more aware, more….aroused.

  He shifted slightly behind me, then pushed me forward once more, so that I was on my hands and knees in front of him. He pushed into me again, impossibly finding still more places inside me that hadn’t yet been explored, that had never felt his cock. He grunted, began to slide into me quickly, his hands holding tightly to my hips, bracing himself against me.

  I began to move with him, strength coming back to me as my pussy began to respond. I could feel my own juices running down my legs, tickling my thighs, mixing with the sand. Boon pushed and pulled me against him, fucking me faster and faster with each stroke. My pussy rippled with pleasure around him; he was pushing as deep as he could go each thrust, the sound of our bodies slamming together almost deafening in the night.

  His grip increased, his body strained; my face flushed, my mouth opened in a desperate whimper. My defenses were totaled, and I was laid bare to him entirely, as he erupted inside me, his cock driving harder than ever through my slit and deep inside me, hot, gushing liquid spurting into me and pushing me over the edge once again.

  His cum massaged my pussy as I milked him, my slit clenching around his cock. I felt my head fill with tingling, drifting, feathers, each one lighting up a single nerve in my body with ecstasy. Boon released stream after stream of cream inside me, each time nudging me further into my climactic delirium.

  When he fell atop me, panting, driving me into the sand again, I could only moan and clench my fingers around handfuls of sand. We lay there like that for three years, days and nights passing by unseen as we tried to recover. Finally, the sound of cicadas became real again, and Boon rolled off me, landing on his back.

  “Are there stars?” I asked, half-drunk with bliss, speaking into the sand, not even sure what I was saying. I felt almost like I did after a long, hard run or cheerleading practice. Only a million times better.

  “Yeah, baby, there are stars,” Boon replied, his voice smooth and warm like melted chocolate. I moaned and stretched, rolling over, loathe to move at all but wanting to be closer to Boon. I looked up; there were stars everywhere. The sky was positively fluorescent with stars. The cicadas sang. The lake whispered to us. He reached out and wrapped an arm around me.

  21

  We almost slept there that night. We didn’t fall straight to sleep after, which was a blessing. Instead, Boon told me a story. It’s a silly story, I promise, something that made me giggle. Granted, I likely found it funnier than you will, since I was lying in his arms when he told it, and just about anything he could have said at that point would have seemed amazing.

  It was a biker story. Boon said those were pretty much the only sorts of stories he knew. He also only said it was a story: I think it was a joke. He swore it really did happen to someone he knew, but I think he was just saying that to make it seem real.

  “One of the older guys in our crew, Castor, he was riding solo from Florida back to California. There’s a lotta biker lingo, road talk, stuff that when you say it, people look at you like you’re crazy unless they’re in the know, too. So Castor stops off at some diner in Alabama, he says it’s four, five AM. Trying to get some chow.

  Real cranky waitress. She must have just been about to get off or something, but anyway he says she had that bit- uh, a real sour look on her. So he’s smiling, Castor’s a nice guy, you’d like him, a real sweetheart, asks for two headlights and two wheels. You know what that means?”

  I shook my head no, snuggling close and letting the rise and fall of his chest lull me along with his voice, the cadence of his words like a melody in my post-coital intoxication.

  “Well, she didn’t either, and she starts getting all flustered. You know, she’s tired, some dirty biker comes in asking for nonsense. So she says ‘we don’t got that’, and waits for him to order something else. But, see, Castor knows the cook there, he’s been there before. So he smiles and says, ‘ask the cook, he’ll know what I mean’. But the waitress isn’t having that, she’s just pissed about everything. No one likes being shown up at their own job, right?

  So she calls back to the cook, ‘some wacko here says he wants two headlights and two wheels, says you’ll know what the hell that means’. And the cook, of course, pops his head out, sees Castor and gives him a nod. ‘Ayup, two sunny-side up eggs, two pancakes, comin’ right up,’ the cook says. And this really gets the waitress going. I mean, you ever dealt with a diner waitress at that time of the day? They’re not all sugar and gumdrops, for sure.

  So of course she’s madder than hell ‘cause she’s been made to look silly. So the waitress goes and disappears back into the kitchen. While the cook’s preparing Castor’s food, she comes out and slams down a big bowl of chili right in front of Castor. Just full of beans. And she says, ‘here’s you’re chili, big boy’. And of course, Castor didn’t order any chili, so he says so, asks what she wants him to do with a bowl of chili he didn’t order. And she goes, ‘two headlights and two wheels won’t get you very far without any gas!’”

  See? It was a stupid story. It wasn’t even very funny. But laying there, in his arms, I thought it was the most charming thing anyone had ever said to me. It was my first time indulging in ‘pillow talk’. I was smitten. If you’d asked me, right then, if I loved him, I’d have said yes as loud as my voice allowed me. After all, like I said, oxytocin is a powerful drug.

  We lay there on the sandy beach for three hours, nodding in and out of conversation, never quite falling into sleep. He told me more about his gang, which he referred to as his family. The way he spoke about them, I could feel how passionately he truly cared for each man in the crew. He didn’t get into the gritty details, for which I was thankful. Being reminded of his shady past, his dangerous life, would only have ruined the moment, reminded us both of the reality of the situation.

  I, in turn, told him about my life in Missoula. My summer job at an ice-cream parlor. Stories about Alicia and Becky and our other friends. The time we went cliff jumping, and I felt like I was flying. The time Alicia got drunk, got pulled over on her bicycle, and wound up getting panc
akes with the cop. A time when Becky and I were little children at church and dared each other to drink holy water. Random, silly stories that I would never have told if I hadn’t felt so comfortable, so open, so free to be myself.

  The warm air held us like a cradle. Finally, I realized, it was getting late, and I needed to get home. My parent’s hadn’t been happy about me going out in the first place, and if I strolled through the doors the next morning they’d be livid. Pulling myself up, I brushed sand from my skin.

  “I have to go,” I said, leaning over Boon’s body as he lay still. His eyes opened, peered into mine.

  “No, you don’t,” he said, reaching up and pulling me down, on top of him. He wrapped his strong arms around me, my face pressed against his chest, the taste of his sweat on my lips. I giggled as he squeezed me.

  “No, no, I do, really, I have to,” I said, my voice muffled. Gradually, he relented, releasing me. I leaned back, drawing myself onto my knees. Looking down at him, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay forever in his embrace.

  “What now?” I asked, blurting out the question that had been lingering between us since we’d collapsed on the ground together. Boon propped himself up on his elbows, looking out onto the still lake.

  “Well, I guess I’m screwed,” he finally said. My brow furrowed.

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Well, I can’t stay, your daddy made that clear. But I can’t leave, either. Not after…that,” he said, actually sounding sheepish. I felt myself blushing.

  “Was it that good…for you?” I wondered aloud, not really believing that a guy like Boon, who could pretty much have his pick of girls, would really be blown away by a virgin like me. His teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he smiled up at me.

  “Darling, that was….resplendent. You’re dangerous. You should come with a warning,” he said, and I felt a swarm of butterflies released in my stomach.

  “So…so what do we do?” The question hung in the air. Boon leaned up more, coming to a sitting position. He took my hands in his, looked into my eyes.

  “Come away with me. Come to California – or no, let’s go to Maine. Let’s go east, as far east as we can get, far away from my dad and your dad and everything. We can be together, and start new lives…” his voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying, and who he was saying it to. I shook my head, tears tickling my eyes.

  “I can’t do that, Boon. I mean, I really…I really like you. A lot. Like, a lot. But I can’t just leave. I have…I have a life here. A good life. I have my friends, and my parents, and I’m going to be starting school…I’m not like you. I can’t just pick up and go somewhere. And I don’t want to! I want to stay here. I love my life. It could only…well, the only way I could like it more is if you were in it.”

  “I know,” he said, head hanging. “I know. I could never really ask you to do that. God, Samantha, you’re so young, and so good. I can’t…I can’t try to change that. I’m no good. I’m trouble. You deserve everything life wants to give you. And I can only give you…bad news.”

  I squeezed his hands.

  “Stay. You’re not trouble. Maybe your father is, maybe your friends are, but you’re not. You’re good; I can see it. Stay. I’ll talk to my dad. He can help you! He’s the sheriff, he could get you a job, help you get set up with a new life, one where you can be you, the good you. It can happen, I promise. Just let me talk to him…”

  Boon was shaking his head, resigned.

  “You’re his little girl, Samantha. You don’t know what fathers will do to protect their daughters. He’s not going to help me. He’s just going to chase me out of town.”

  “Let me try. Please, just, stay at the motel, a few more nights. Let me try. That’s the least we can do,” I said, trying to catch his eye. He looked at me. I sensed his hesitation.

  “Okay,” he finally said, his voice rough and low, no louder than a whisper. “A few days. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up, little sister. I certainly don’t have very high hopes myself.”

  I could have fucked him again right there and then for even giving me the chance to talk to my dad. He was right to be pessimistic, but he was also wrong: my dad could be understanding, could change his mind. And even if my father couldn’t, my mother could certainly help change his mind for him.

  I leaned forward, throwing my arms around Boon’s shoulders, pushing him back onto the sand, pressing my lips against his. We giggled through the kiss; his hands came to my waist, held me in place. Finally, he pulled back.

  “If you’re gonna go, you better go now, or I won’t be able to let you leave at all,” he said, releasing my waist. I stood up, slightly wobbly, and let out a short cry when I felt Boon’s hand suddenly smack against my ass. I blushed, laughing, and hopped over his body to my white dress, which had been laying in the sand. I watched him watch me get dressed, enjoying the feel of his eyes on my moonlit body.

  “I’ll call you,” I said as I began to walk towards the path that led back to the house.

  “Samantha,” he called after me. I stopped and turned to him. “Just, be careful. Don’t…don’t get your hopes up.”

  Too late for that, I thought to myself as I slipped into the woods. My hopes were already living up there in that star-filled night. If they were going to fall, it was going to be one hell of a crash.

  22

  Mom and Dad, mercifully, hadn’t waited up for me. I guess that even with their misgivings about Boon, they knew I was an adult and needed to be treated like one. I slipped quietly up the steps and into my room, leaning against the door and trying to collect myself. The drive home had seemed to take forever, and I’d tried my best not to think of anything as I drove. The last thing I wanted or needed was to end up in a ditch because I let my mind wander.

  Now, bathed in the soft light of my bedroom, I thought I’d be up all night, trying to figure out a way to talk to my dad about Boon. You can imagine my surprise, then, when I woke to sun streaming through my window and birds chirping. I’d underestimated the narcotic properties of mind-blowing sex and passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  I actually had work that day, and I could barely believe that after everything I’d gone through the past two weeks, I was actually going to don my silly pink-and-white striped uniform and dole out ice cream to families on vacation and kids on summer break.

  I spent my shift in a sort of haze, my mind constantly bouncing back and forth like a pinball. What to say to my father, how the many ways this could work out, my possible future with Boon, my possible separation from Boon.

  I’d spent a lot of time preparing my meeting-Boon-at-the-lake speech, but the speech I wanted to give my father would have to be a lot more professional and compelling, and I had a lot less time to rehearse it in my mind.

  I wanted to talk to Dad that night. If Boon agreed to stick around for a few days, and if Dad needed some time to come around to my way of thinking, then the sooner the better. As I scooped up cones of strawberry ice cream, I thought of the many ways I could approach the subject. We hadn’t even mentioned the incident since it took place, and I knew that what I was going to say wouldn’t be easy for my father to hear. It had to be perfect.

  When I got off work, my heart and mind were both racing. I knew Mom and Dad would both be home by the time I got there. Should I just get it over with as soon as I got in? Should I wait until dinner? After dinner, when we were all watching TV together?

  The question was answered for me. As soon as I stepped through the door, I knew something was off. Mom and Dad were sitting in the living room without the TV on. That wouldn’t have been weird if they were talking, but they weren’t. They were just sitting there. I knew Mom was usually on the treadmill or doing laps at this time, so that was a big red flag, too.

  “Um, hi,” I said, standing in the hallway and looking in at them. Their faces were…concerning, to say the least. Mom looked uneasy; Dad looked downright distraught. I threw my purse onto the floor and walked t
o the loveseat, sinking in.

  There was no use trying to avoid whatever they were about to say. For a moment, I wondered if this could have nothing at all to do with Boon: maybe something else had happened. Maybe Mom lost her job. Maybe we were going to need to move. Maybe my Aunt Hilde died. I didn’t want any of those things to be true, but I also didn’t want to have a conversation about Boon unless it was me coming to them.

  I noticed the matchbook Boon slipped me sitting on the coffee table and my stomach dropped. There was no question about it: they knew.

  “I’m guessing you want to talk to me,” I said, deciding that it would be best if I took control of the situation as much as possible.

  “Damn right we do,” Dad said, his voice harsh. I flinched. I hated disappointing my parents, and I realized for the first time how much I really had betrayed their trust by seeing Boon. I got that sick feeling in my stomach that I only got when I’d really screwed up and had to come clean to my parents. Guilt and shame mixed together. I consciously reminded myself that while, yes, I’d definitely gone behind my parents’ backs, I had a pretty good reason, and that this time, maybe, just maybe, I was in the right.

  “Why is there a ladder hidden in the backyard?” Mom asked, glancing at Dad with concern. Oh, shit, I thought. We’d forgotten the stupid ladder. In all the drama and running around, Alicia, Becky, and I had all totally forgotten we’d hid the ladder at my house. Mom always played ref between Dad and I, and I knew she was trying to keep Dad from just blowing up before the whole story came out and I had a chance to defend myself.

  “I…I…we…”

  “And where the hell did this come from?” Dad said, picking up the matchbook and holding it in front of me, waving it in my face. I started to feel something else stirring inside me: anger.

  “Well, actually, Dad, it came from my room,” I said, realizing that the only way Mom and Dad could have found that is if they’d gone into my room. That would have been fine if I was still 12 and needed Mom to do my laundry and put my clothes away, but I’d been taking care of my own wardrobe for years, and there was, generally, no reason for them to ever go into my room when I wasn’t there.