A Good Girl's BIKER Baby_A Forbidden Baby Romance

by Cherise West

  “I just don’t know who I can trust,” I push myself against the front door, listening to his voice muffled through the wood. He exhales deeply, hanging on to my answer for a long time.

  “Maybe I was right — we were both right, the first time,” he adds bitterly. “Maybe this entire thing — maybe it’s a terrible idea. Maybe it can’t work.” I hear the sound of footsteps receding. My heart breaks. Each stomp carries him further from me - not just from my front door, but miles, light years away from us; from our baby. When I hear the footsteps stop, I gasp, throwing the knife away and storming through the door.

  “Please! Tony!” I exclaim, gaunt and tired and sick and scared. “Please, I’m just— I’m terrified, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “I opened up to you, Mara,” he exclaims, defeat in his tone. “I told you things that scare even me. I trust you. Even though, to you, I might still just be a Roarin’ Wardog - to me, you’re a disaster. You’re my disaster.”

  “I was scared,” I admit. “I didn’t know if… if Billy Boy, or his dogs, were coming for me. I didn’t know if they’d convinced… convinced you, somehow, that I was the real enemy. They’re your brothers, and I know you treat that seriously—”

  “They’re brothers, Mara. You’re more than that. Or, that’s what I wanted you to be,” he grimaces, conflict thick in his expression. “We let our walls down, but the world wants to build them back up. Your job, my life — I can’t do it, Mara.”

  “Please,” I whimper, “we can find a way. For you, and me - for our baby. We can find a way, without the Wardogs—”

  “I turned my back on my brothers for you, Mara,” Tony exhales, a revelation that strikes me like lightning. “I could’ve done what Quentin Hill wanted. I could’ve done what my gut told me to do, Mara. I could’ve put a bullet in Bill Nonniwicz’s head, and I could’ve done the same to his loyal lapdogs. The club may have turned on me, the Wardogs may have fallen apart, but that’s what I should have done. I didn’t,” he chokes, teeth gritted. “Instead, I put my faith in my brothers - that they’d learn from my example. The Wardogs will either crumble, or Billy Boy will terrorize Jersey again. But I won’t be a part of it. I can hope for the best for my brothers, but I have to worry about making my parents proud, my city proud. Not of the Roarin’ Wardogs. Of me.”

  “Tony, I didn’t— I didn’t think…” I stammer, shocked. “I didn’t know…”

  “You didn’t think I’d give up the Wardogs for you, did you?” he exhales sharply, closing his eyes. “Neither did I, Mara. I never would’ve imagined it. But I stepped into that clubhouse, and I saw Billy, and I saw his boys, and instead of thinking about the months of him, scheming, setting me up, all the anger… all I could think of was you, Mara. All I could think of was you, and our child,” he admits, strong muscles trembling beneath his leather jacket.

  “I’m…” I don’t know what I am. I had never expected Tony to do all of this, for us.

  “And on my way out the door, after telling Billy to fuck off, that I’m done with the Wardogs, with the motor humming underneath me, I realized I’d made a mistake. I can leave the dogs behind, Mara, but the fleas? They’ll stick with me, probably until the day I die. I’ll never be safe from Billy. And because of that - neither will you. Neither will our baby. You’re a prosecutor, Mara - a prosecutor. Your job, your life, your mission, your purpose - all of it, ruined, for me?”

  “It’s not ruined,” I protest tearfully. “We can take on Billy. We can do it together, through my office - we can stop them, we can—”

  “That’s the problem, he argues. “You have your way. I have mine. I was born with this bad blood inside of me, Mara, and I don’t think I can ever leave it behind. I want to, but…”

  “If you want to, that’s all it takes,” I plead with him, rushing into his arms.

  “I imagined, one day,” he shudders, emotions pouring from his weak baritone rumble, “one day, Mara… I didn’t drive to the clubhouse, after I left. I spent the afternoon cruising the highways, scouring the city. Looking. Looking at families - happy families. Husbands and wives, their children playing in their yards. Brothers and sisters, arguing over toys. Green grass, tranquility. I saw lives I never thought I could live, until that moment that you said to me, Mara, that you were carrying my baby inside of you,” he finally embraces me, exhaling an entire day of tension in one gust of warmth. “Lives I knew I wanted to dream of with you, Mara.”

  “I love you, Tony, and we can have them,” I whisper. “We can—” he swallows my next words with a kiss so full of passion it lights the cold, dark night afire. Our lips meet and speak words neither of us could say aloud, for fear of the walls coming up again between us; the misconceptions, the lies. Instead we wordlessly promise that we both feel the same; that those dreams, carried on that first night of fateful love between us, can be a reality.

  “I want them, Mara,” he breathes duskily against my ear.

  “So do I,” I murmur, pulling at his sleeve, wanting him back into my house; wanting his embrace, now.

  Chapter 20

  The door slams shut behind us and the passion feels as real as it did the first night; the first time the door shut behind us, sheltering us in the refuge of scattered courtroom briefs and messy hallways. Now, my eyes seeing clearly and my ears hearing every muffled breath and every soft whisper of my name on his lips, just the kissing of our lips pressed together feels even more intense than my time with Tony did this afternoon. Pressing me down against the couch, the few straining remnants of moonlight glint in from the front window, bathing Tony’s body the way it did our first night together. Much as he had tortured me with the sight of his aphrodisian body shimmering in night’s silvery eye, I squirm in the cushions of the couch and watch him pull his leather jacket away, and then the tanktop beneath, his chest chiseled and his arms rippling and the thatched tapestry of ink worked into his skin beaming. Raking a hand through black hair, his hazel-gold eyes glow with hunger as he watches me slowly unbutton my blouse, the faint light from the bulb overtop the kitchen stove illuminating my curves, my chest and stomach exposed to the glow, for him to see all of me. I realize that in our first encounter, liquor stunted both of us; in the second, the passion of the moment saw us glued to one another until we rode out our hot climax together.

  Now, safe in my house, our minds clear and the lies washed away, we see one another like it’s the first time - I wriggle free of my pants, my breasts exposed, nipples stiff, and my thighs rosy and flushed while I quake in the cool breeze before him. His buckles unclasped his muscled legs and hardened manhood spill out, exposed, every inch of him; not just his gorgeous body, but his every memory, ink splattered against his skin; all his insecurities, all his regrets. Neither of us needs shame any longer; neither of us wants the barriers there anymore. No more am I a prosecutor, and no more is he the head of the Wardogs; we are two people, bonded by a steamy memory, and hoping for a new future, forever wanting more of the other.

  He kisses me with an aggressive need I felt not even that first night; now it’s not simply a forbidden meeting he wants, nor is it a lust for my body, or my attitude, but he wants me — all of me. He kisses along my chin, down my neck, languid about every sluggish second he spends dragging his lips away, as if it pains him to his core to leave even one inch of me without a hot kiss placed onto my steaming skin. He kisses me until every last doubt vanishes, and I moan as his lips lead him lower, a steaming trail emblazoned with rapture from my mouth down to my chest, his tongue worshiping each of my stiff pink peaks, massaging my breasts while he goes further, further, his warm breath tickling against my navel, his fingers massaging the insides of my thighs, until I feel his tongue darting along my hot womanly depths, twirling in tantalizing, twisting circles around my flushed clit while he pleased my chest with his skilled hands, squeezing my nipples while I moaned quaking little sounds to encourage him.

  “I have a lot more to show you,” he says, echoing his promise from our time tog
ether this afternoon, that moment so emotionally distant from this perfect encounter. His tongue dips hasty between my soaked lips and my hips push out against him, wanting more; my fingers curl between his raven hair, pushing him deeper into me. He kisses from one side of my quivering femme lips to the other, so deliciously attentive to my every whim and need, pulling at my shaking heart like a virtuoso plucking his harp, making sweet music with my songbird’s moans. My fingers jitter and he grasps my wrists, pinning them to the couch while he takes control. I surrender to him willingly, letting him tease my folds and torment me until his tongue plunges deep and tastes how hot and ready I am for him. He drags his starved pink muscle across my walls, plucking at my sensitive insides, lapping at my bead and squeezing my nipples with every subtle and delicate and unbelievably pleasing motion. Rosy and full and flushed with emotion and desire I try to reach for him, but he keeps control of my hands. He knows everything I want, even without my palms pressing him along; he tenderly pleasures my femininity, kissing gentle along my folds before devouring me with all he has, and with only a few more focused flicks of his tongue he has me crying in ecstasy, living on the razor-thin precipice between orgasmic pleasure and self-control. I hold back, wanting so much more of him, but I can only hold for so long before a moan of his own echoes through my body, shaking me to my core as the tingling explodes through my limbs and my abdomen flexes in waves against him, my peak claiming all my senses as I see only the bursting of stars in my eyes as he makes me climax; I hear only my own breaths and calls of his name.

  “Tony,” my voice sings weakly, throat hoarse and cracking from the litany of sweet sounds he plucks from my body, “I want… I want to feel all of… all of it, with you, things I’ve never felt, with… with men who could never do to me what you’ve done.”

  “What,” his enticing baritone voice simmers as he moves onto the couch to kiss my cheek, “you’ve never been with a man who wanted to taste you like that?” he teases.

  “No,” I joke back to him tenderly, “but, you know. You could probably have taught them a thing or two about how to do it,” I admit sheepishly, returning the kisses with gentle worship of my own along his chest. My own kisses lead into a hungry fury of my own; the taste of his skin, a masculine musk clinging to his sculpted skin, blinds me, awakening me from a starved trance only when I hear him gasping for me.

  “Fuck, Mara,” he groans, legs shifting while I work my way down his abs, lovingly licking the chiseled cuts curled along his skin. My tongue traces the strong line defining his pelvis, savoring the flavor of a real, dirty, hard-bodied man all the way down to the stiff bulge awaiting my savoring lips. My hand wrapping around its thick base, I stroke gently, my hands still shaking from exhaustion; mental, physical, emotional. Only he can fix me, and when my lips part to taste the reddened tip of his shaft, the pleasure of my erotic release floods my mind again. He tastes better than I could have imagined, and the feeling of his body tensing at my every flick and suckle fills me with delight. I watch his abs shudder when my tongue feels along his sensitive underside, teasing his swollen vein and pumping on his manhood with licentious need.

  “It feels so… nnng,” he groans, grasping at my hair, barely able to piece together words. I take him into my throat, feeling him throb inside of my mouth, my head bobbing anxiously to please him the way he pleased me. For him to sit at my mercy, trusting me, and enjoying himself so deeply, I feel the sensation welling through my chest and tingling into my hands again, an explosive rapture I’ve never enjoyed. Tony St. James surrenders his desire to me, and I swallow him deep, moaning muffled noises along his pelvis as he pumps his hips into my mouth.

  “I’m… god, I’m going to come,” he huffs hungrily, squeezing the sides of my face. I feel him pulsate deep inside of my mouth, and as angelic as it tastes and feels to experience him quaking at my whims, I need that hot release to fill me the way it did the first time. I deny him, and while he lifts his lips to protest when I leave his shaft wet and spasming in the cool air, I silence him just as quickly by climbing into his lap, pressing my lips in passion against his and pumping my hips down, letting his shaking length penetrate deep, plunging into my hot and welcoming feminine petals and splitting them wide. Our breaths catch at the same time and we cry out in a searing-hot unison, lips meeting in an enthralled kiss as my warmth fills my stomach and chest. I feel him fill me and his tip erupts, messy and delicious spurts of his climax pumping into me, filling me up with his release as he kisses away the endless, crashing waves of pleasure filling both of our heads and bodies to the brim.

  I sit atop his lap while he massages my hips, letting me ride out the remnants of my apex. He squeezes my rear, leaving it marked just the way he had before, his reddened handprint proudly gleaming on my skin. He eases the come-down, trailing kisses from my chest to my lips, letting me moan and moan and moan into his mouth while we melt into the couch with one another.

  “I think I’m addicted to you, Mara,” he whispers in a hush against my neck, twining his fingers between my hair and tugging gently. “An addiction I never want to get over.”

  “Addictions are dangerous,” I sass playfully, laying my cheek against his shoulder. “Are you saying I’m dangerous?”

  “You might be. No telling when I might lose control and need to indulge,” he kisses my cheek, massaging my back up and down. “You might wind up getting me into court after all, with all the places in the world I want to claim your body.”

  “Lewd,” I quip amiably, kissing him back, relaxing. Eyes closed, we savor the sound of our shared breaths; the lackadaisical rise and fall of our chests. Naked, and truly free together, we rest.

  But only for a moment.

  Night’s placid silence breaks after our shared passion and we hear the unmistakable rip and roar of a rumbling Harley engine. Both our heads lift from that moment of peace; mine full of fear, Tony’s eyes gripped in fury and concern. Another rumbling voice joins the chorus; another follows, until I look past Tony’s shoulder to see a swarm of headlights like glinting firebugs approaching through the neighborhood, rounding each bend deftly and with purpose. I swallow hard. I had never asked what Billy’s response had been to Tony swearing off the Wardogs.

  It seems now he’s here to deliver it.

  “I should have known,” Tony grimaces. I can feel his fists balling against my back. He pushes me from his lap, giving me one last, tender parting kiss before getting to his feet.

  “I’ll tell them to go away,” I murmur, voice quivering. I don’t know where the courage to stare down the Wardogs is coming from, because frankly I’m still completely mortified at the thought, but I can’t let them threaten what Tony and I have. “They’re rumbling through my neighborhood at 5 in the morning, so… you know. I can call the cops, tell them you’re not here-”

  “Mara,” he says flatly, buttoning the buckles on his pants, eyes set on the gang starting to assemble just outside my driveway. Crashing noises like exploding firecrackers echo over the thrum of engines; I don’t recognize it at first, but another crackle widens my eyes as I realize the Wardogs have come to my doorstep with guns at the ready.

  “Tony,” I plead, “they’re— they’re armed. They’re— there’s no telling—”

  “Wardogs came to fight, then they’ll get their fight,” he states blankly. “With me. Not with you. Not with our child, Mara. With me.”

  “No,” I exclaim in worry, grabbing my bathrobe from the couch. Tony tries to push past me, but with all my strength I shove him onto the couch, a gesture that stuns him. Bathrobe pulled over my curves, I hear the last of the motorcycles cut out, the sound of the engines replaced by Wardogs hooting, howling cries and another volley of shots fired, probably into the air, to intimidate us.

  “Where is he?!” we hear from outside. I recognize the voice; cold, deadly. It’s Butcher.

  “Don’t answer,” I plead with Tony, “Just… just go. They don’t need to see you here. We can fix this, Tony.” throwing open the door.
Headlights blind me; a sea of them. I press out into the cloud of light to a chorus of howls and jeers. The Wardogs, though not all of them seem content to join in the fun; though the bright glow of a dozen bikes makes their faces hard to see, I can make out cross expressions; angry discontent. Billy Boy grins, flanked by Butcher and Lefty Pete, the men Tony assures me stand most loyal to the crooked would-be leader.

  “He sends out his girlie, does he?” Billy Boy’s booming preacher voice invokes.

  “Whose girlie? What are you doing in my neighborhood, waking us up at 5 in the morning?” I bluff. It doesn’t take a cop’s insight to know I’m a terrible liar, but I stand firm on the porch. Shotguns hefted and held sky-high, I try to lead them off. “What do you want?!” I just have to stall them for a bit, hope they wander off, and Tony gets a chance to slip out the back door.

  “Girlie we ain’t here to play,” Billy Boy howls, to a chorus of mixed boos and howls.

  “Get off my driveway,” I shriek in response.

  “What’re you gonna do about it?” Lefty Pete, shotgun held to the sky, skewers me with that creepy smirk. I freeze, stammering.

  “Maybe she just came out to give us a show, Pete. Give the girl a chance, huh?” Butcher’s evil grin curls across his seedy expression. “Can’t blame her. Girl like her? Trying to play the good girl act? You know what she wants,” he sneers lewdly.

  “What?!” I scream. “Get out of my driveway!”

  “She’s had a little taste, now she needs more,” Butcher growls. “Maybe we should oblige, huh, boys? What do you think Billy?” Billy’s yellowed teeth gleam at me in response.

  “Get the hell off the driveway,” comes a voice from behind. Tony. I shudder, glancing back at him.

  “Tony, I told you… please, I don’t want a confrontation—”

  “I do,” he snarls. “I told the brothers I’m done with the Wardogs. I told them what Billy Boy did, left peacefully, so he didn’t get one of his preacher shows, the sort he always uses to try to manipulate the boys. That’s why he rolled hell down this way. Isn’t it?” Tony emerges, placing himself firmly between the gang and myself, placing a hand gently on my tummy, caressing me. “Wants to make a show of it. Show of power over you, brothers. And if you’re just going to follow him into the breach without looking, because he calls himself a Wardog, you go ahead and do it. But you’re not hurting Mara unless you blow me to pieces, so you’d better be ready to face me down. Especially you, Billy. You son of a bitch.”