Biker's Baby: Devil's Wings MC

by Nicole Fox

  His hand fell and was now caressing the naked part of my thigh. I gasped and felt trails of heat where his fingertips touched.

  “Tell me now, Princess,” he said. “Are you into it?” His lips touched down upon my neck, right where it met the shoulder.

  A whirlwind of thoughts in my head. Distract him. Yes! That was why I was doing this. Keep his mind off of … Off of …

  Oh, fuck it. I wanted him.

  In answer, I seized that wandering hand and clapped it firmly across my breast. I moaned, and I felt my nipple pop like a spring against his palm.

  “I thought you’d be,” he said, and then shoved me onto the bed.

  I gasped, amazed at his power as he stood over me. He reached down, slipping his hands on either side of my collar, and then flexed. Rip! The fabric of my shirt split clean in two, and my breasts, hidden only now by my white, lacy bra, popped free.

  “My shirt …” I protested, thinking I had nothing more to wear. Connor chuckled and then crawled over me, his knees on either side of my body and his mouth bent low, close to my face.

  “I’ll get you new clothes,” he said. “Dress you like a star.”

  And with that, both hands clasped over my breasts and he let his weight shift on top of me. Our lips connected, and we were buried in a passionate kiss.

  “Oh, yeah …” I moaned, feeling his hands pressing into my tits first through the bra, and then his fingers slipped under, pinching hard at my nipples. There was a flash of fire in my mind, and I found myself flexing, brushing my nipples against his touch by the motion of my body.

  “You like it when I do that, don’t you?” he murmured, flicking back and forth. With a single, incredible twist of strength, he tore my bra away. I felt its fabric biting into my skin as it broke, but I didn’t care. My longing for his hands on my tits was too great.

  He leaned back, my naked tits exposed before him. I panted, goosebumps breaking out on my porcelain skin. He smiled and then leaned down to take my left nipple into his mouth.

  “Oh!” I cried, feeling his teeth bite down. There was a flicker of pain and then an explosion of pleasure. His hand worked my other tit, at once pressing and flicking the nipple and massaging the meat of it. His hands were huge, big enough to swallow all of them in their grasp.

  He was on his knees, his thighs forked over me. I reached out and pressed my hand against his package, enormous and burning hot through the denim of his jeans. He grunted. I could feel his hot breath exploding over my nipples, wet from his sucking. Knowing I pleased him, I began sliding my hand up and down, exploring the length of him.

  “The buttons,” he grunted. “The buttons.” I tried, fumbling with the button of his jeans to open them up, but I couldn’t manage. His breath milky with excitement, he knocked my hands away and stood up, doing it himself.

  With a single wrench, his pants came free, and that cock—that massive, fucking cock— burst out.

  I moaned again, writhing as he bent down and I felt it slam against my belly button. It was as hard as a baseball bat and bigger than both my fists by half. He gave it a squeeze, letting out a little drop of moisture from its tip, and then returned to my breast. His hand was damp was heat and longing.

  “You want it, you slut?” he demanded, rubbing it against me. I nodded, moaning, and struggled to reach down between my own legs and lift my skirt. But he had me pinned. This was about him. Anything he wanted with me, he would have.

  “Not quite yet,” he murmured, chuckling. Instead, he shifted up. I could feel his iron thighs pressing on either side of my hips, and then my ribcage. He worked his pants and boxers back until both his cock and his balls were free—hanging, now, right in front of my face.

  “Lick them,” he ordered, and I did as I was told. I reached up with my tongue and tasted him. He was salty and clean, his balls as large as lemons. I rubbed them with my lips and my tongue, so eager to please. It was a great view; his body extended all the way up above me, cock in hand. So powerful. So dominating.

  That’s what I thought, at least, until he slipped his cock into my mouth.

  “Suck it, you slut,” he said, and I opened up to take him.

  My God! The sensation of it! He felt as thick around as my forearm, and he slid inches deep down my throat. I moaned, making sure to relax enough to allow this pressure. He was enormous! No way he would fit!

  But he kept going. I closed my eyes, all of my being focusing on my lips on his shaft, my tongue caressing his length, and my throat closing around his tip. I realized with a sudden rush that he had complete power of me. He could kill me if he wanted to, I thought in wonder. My airway was blocked. There was nothing but me and his cock, taking up my whole being.

  “Ah!” I gasped as he slipped out of me. I felt like a wine bottle that’d been uncorked, all that pressure suddenly released. I sagged against the bed, trying to catch my breath while he stood over me, grinning.

  “Good girl,” he said. “I’m impressed.” As he spoke, he began taking off the rest of his clothes.

  I nodded and gave him a thumbs up. I wasn’t capable of much else. I stared at the mirror above me, fascinated by the brilliant whiteness of my tits next to the rich wine color of my nipples. Then I felt Connor’s hands closing around my skirt. Gently this time, he slid my clothing off me, panties included.

  I gasped. Cool air touched my core, and I felt trickles of wetness soaking my inner thighs. Connor leaned down and blew softly on it, sending goosebumps spreading all over my body. “Pretty pussy,” he murmured, and gently touched it with a fingertip. I jumped, as if a thousand jolts of pleasure had surged through me. All from that single touch.

  “Yup,” he said. “Now you’re ready.”

  He scooped me with his arms, pushed me further up the bed, and mounted me. He was completely naked now, and I could see every muscle, every tattoo, every scar flexing with his movements. He took his cock in his hand. Massive! Big as an exhaust pipe!

  And then he thrust it into me.

  The pleasure was immediate and overwhelming. I moaned, spreading my legs wider and taking him deeper. I felt the coarse hair of his chest rubbing against my flesh, catching against my nipples, and my pleasure surged even more. He pressed his weight down onto me and shoved his arms beneath my head, pressing me to him. We rocked, our whole bodies swaying with the movement as he opened me up, making sure I could take his hardest assault.

  “You ready?” he asked, kissing my nose. I nodded.

  Wham! His body flexed like a snake, driving with terrible force into my pussy. I screamed, my fingers scrabbling against the bed sheets, my vision fuzzy even as I watched the pair of us in the mirror. My tits bouncing. The muscles of his ass flexing with each monumental thrust. I heard the wooden frame of the bed scraping against the ground, the curved headboard slamming into the wall.

  He’s going to break me! I thought. I can’t take it!

  But I did. Just when I thought I was going to have to stop, my first orgasm hit me like a train, bowling me over and flexing the muscles of my pussy even wider so that he could fuck me harder. I moaned, biting into his flesh to keep from screaming, and saw my hands digging red lines into the flesh of his back from the mirror. He didn’t care. Connor could take anything.

  “Over!” he demanded, and at once he pulled himself out. I felt winded, as if I’d been punched in the gut, and could not figure out how to roll over. Growling with impatience, his seized me on either side of my hips and hurled me over so that my breasts and face pressed into the bed.

  I felt him latching onto my thighs and ass, positioning them, readying them for him to fuck me. He paused, as if enjoying the view, and then spread my cheeks.

  Slap! He rammed inside me so hard that his balls swung up and slapped against my pussy. His fingers dug into my ass, opening me up so that he could fuck me so deep his swinging balls slapped against my clit. I came again, and hot wetness flooded the length of his shaft, streaming down my thighs.

  “Yes!” I screamed, my ha
ir flying, my tits shaking with the impact. He reached around me and grabbed them in his vise-like grip, and my pleasure doubled. I felt myself growing dizzy, overwhelmed by the massive size of him buried so deep inside me. I sensed a change in his rhythm. Short, quicker thrusts, and his panting breath upon my back. His hands lost their focus and now slid across my skin at random, grabbing it. Enjoying it.

  When he finally did cum, it was like a volcano exploding. I felt it flood my insides, and I collapsed onto the bed, defeated.

  “Oh, fuck, yeah …” he moaned, giving me a few final thrusts before sliding out of me. Even when it was growing soft, his cock was still enormous.

  I expected him to get dressed right then and just turn around and leave me soaking in his cum. But he didn’t. Instead, he swept the comforter aside and slid in beside me, laughing as I struggled to turn over and to meet his gaze.

  “You liked that, didn’t you?” he said. It was a proud, possessive tone.

  I smiled, and snuggled against him. “I did,” I said, and was honestly surprised that I was not lying. Whatever my motivations were—to distract, to mislead, to survive—I could not deny how good the sex had been. Everything, from his cock to his hands to his lips, had been incredible.

  Drowsiness took over me, and I felt myself drifting, warm in the hollow of his arms.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Connor

  As we nestled down in President Montengo’s stupid, leopard-print sheets, I realized that I was finally relaxing for the first time in weeks. Princess was dozing beside me, and though her eyes were closed, I sensed that she was awake. I lit a cigarette and smoked it in silence, not caring about the ashes I flicked onto the bed.

  Princess stirred. “Won’t the president be mad at you?” she murmured. “You’ll set the damn bed on fire.”

  I chuckled. “First, he’s off at some hotel with that Farrah girl. I’m pretty sure he won’t be back anytime soon. And second, he has so many whores in this fucking place that he won’t notice a few ashes on his bed.”

  She frowned in thought. “You know, pretty much everyone I’ve talked to around here doesn’t think very highly of Montengo. Why is he still president?”

  “Good question,” I said, shrugging. “He was a good biker in his day. He was younger than me when Sam Michaels was in charge, and he was as tough and loyal to the club as anybody.”

  “So what happened?”

  I sighed and lightly poked her nipple with my fingertip. “I guess when Sam was in charge, there was a real sense of camaraderie. He took care of himself, sure, but I never got the vibe that he was putting himself before the club. It was always the Devil’s Wings first with him. Then, when he died—”

  “You mean when he was killed,” Princess interrupted vehemently. I was surprised that she would know about that—or care.

  “Yes. When he was killed, there was a sort of power vacuum in the club. A guy named Garcia took over, and he was wicked smart and very cautious. Our books were always perfect, our bills all paid on time, but the bikers were bored under him. There’s violence in every biker, even the gentle ones, and if that’s not given proper outlet it's due to explode. Look at what almost happened to you.”

  Princess nodded. “And President Montengo was that outlet.”

  “That’s right. He was able to bully his way up, promising fights and heists and hookers. All those things that could excite his men. Garcia was getting old anyway, and he stepped down.”

  “That sounds selfish of him, letting an asshole like Montengo take over.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But I don’t think so. He knew that he wasn’t giving the club what they needed, and he hoped that maybe Montengo could. I just wish he’d stuck around rather than retiring. Keep the books.”

  To my surprise, Princess chuckled. “They certainly are a mess,” she commented.

  I considered whether to be offended and then decided against it. She was right.

  After a moment, I continued, “That idea you had … about the bribes. It was a good one. Where did you learn to be so smart?”

  For a moment, it seemed she didn’t know how to answer. At last, she said, “I suppose it’s in my blood.”

  Blood. There was great strength in blood. A true biker gang was joined by it, in spilling it together.

  “You know,” I murmured. “You really do surprise me. A whore who knows about finances and martial arts. I had been worried that maybe your original profession would suffer, but it turned out I had nothing to worry about.”

  She took the compliment with a smile, then grazed her hand over the rough hair of my chest. “Your whore …” she muttered, as if she did not want me to hear. It was hard to understand her tone. Part of it seemed like excitement, and gratefulness, while the rest …

  I got the vibe that my little Princess was hiding something. Something terrible. I was about to ask her about it, and then decided, on impulse, to let it be. After her terrific performance beating up the skimmers—and then in bed—she’d certainly earned the right to a few secrets. If she wanted to tell me, she would.

  After a few minutes of silence, and the lighting of another cigarette, she spoke again. “So … what can you tell me about Sam Michaels?” she asked. “I’ve heard a lot about him, but … never met the man.”

  I laughed. “Well, you would have been really young when he died. Hell, I was, too, but I’ve been in the club long enough to hear a million stories about him.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

  I thought a moment, then went on to explain a legend of the Devil’s Wings, when no one but Sam and his buddy had infiltrated another club’s compound, endured their capture and torture, found out some crippling evidence, and then proceeded to blackmail the club for hundreds of thousands of dollars. It was a great tale, with equal parts heroism and gritty criminality, and I saw her soaking it in with enjoyment, like a woman with a strong drink.

  “What makes you so interested in all this?” I asked, curious at her smile.

  She shrugged. “Biking clubs have always interested me. They walk that fine line between legendary heroes and thugs, between great men and criminals. My father said it was about respect. In a true biking club, or a crime family, respect is essential. It’s what keeps the enterprise, in some ways, noble. But without respect … well, you saw the men out there, before you stepped in.”

  I paused. This was the first time either of us had mentioned me stepping in to save her. I found I had been worried about what she thought of the whole thing. Did she take it as a sign of loyalty, or (God forbid!) love? No, I realized as soon as I heard her tone. She saw it as respect. Whether for a person or for property, you should show respect.

  “I’m glad I did,” I said. “I wouldn’t have wanted you hurt. You know, to the point where you couldn’t perform your job.”

  She decided to take this, too, as a compliment, and rewarded me with a playful slap.

  Feeling sleepy and satisfied, I glanced at the president’s gold-inlaid clock and was surprised to see that it was practically morning.

  “Come on, Princess,” I said. “We should get some sleep. I’m sure after all of today’s excitement you’re pretty tired.”

  She looked startled, and glanced around. “Here?” she said.

  I shrugged. “Why not? Montengo is out. Hell, the only reason he’d be coming back is if the girl he’s banging asked him to.”

  For some reason, this made her look troubled. She bit her lip and scowled. For a second, I worried that she might decline the offer and want to go back and sleep in her bunk.

  “Princess,” I said. “I think sleeping here is the safest place for you. Now that you have been ‘broken in,’ there’s a fair chance the guys will go after you in the bunkroom.”

  Her eyes widened in fear, and she nestled closer against me. “Okay,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Within a minute, she was asleep.

  Leaving me lying there wondering: why the hell did I just say that
?

  What did I care if she slept in the bunkroom? She was a whore, after all. That’s where whores belonged. Did I actually want to sleep with her? I mean, not just fuck her brains out, but actually sleep-sleep with her?

  Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. You’re tired after a long few days, too, and it’s nice to have some ass to grab at night.

  Sure, I that’s what I told myself. It didn’t matter that I usually preferred to have the bed to myself. I hated clingy cuddlers. But with Princess? Somehow, I didn’t find her arms wrapped around my own to be annoying.

  It’s only ’cause you want to fuck her in the morning, I realized. Yes! That was it. I didn’t want no idiot’s sloppy seconds when I woke up. I wanted her right there, ready to fuck with my morning wood. With most whores, I would want them to shower first, because they could feel so dirty. Not Princess, though. She was many things, including clean.