Biker Chicks: An Anthology of Hot MC Romance

by AJ Downey

  “Holy fuck, that burns!”

  I laughed a little. “I warned you.”

  “Yes, yes you did.” He gave my hips a squeeze, his thumbs caressing over the leather and denim and I felt an answering heat between my thighs. He was definitely my kind of hot, now that he’d been cleaned up.

  He smiled up at me and I peeled off a butterfly bandage, sticking it over the cut. This was going to be a two bandage job and it was going to leave one seriously attractive scar through his dark eyebrow when he was done healing. I smiled to myself and affixed the second one.

  “I think that’ll do it,” I murmured, but I didn’t back away.

  “What’re you smiling about?” he asked, a teasing smile of his own spreading those gorgeous lips of his.

  I blushed, “I have a thing for scars, and this is going to leave a hot one.”

  “Scars?” he asked, grin widening.

  “Yeah, I know it’s weird, but they tell you that a person has really lived, yah know?”

  I backed off his lap and he reluctantly let me go, I mean, I could feel the hesitation and it kind of tickled me pink. I wasn’t exactly the girl that got noticed when it came to the Saintly Sinner crew.

  “So are you part of a club?” I asked, inspired to change the subject, “Or you some kind of R.U.B. or weekend warrior?”

  “Uh no, actually, I’m none of those. I’m a full time rider, just with no affiliation.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, cleaning up my mess of packaging and putting things away, “What d’ you ride?”

  He leaned back and stretched a little, putting his long legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankle, “Ah, I ride a 2012 Indian Chief Vintage, actually.” I gave a low whistle.

  “Classy looking bike.”

  “Yeah, I thought so too. My granddad had an original ’48 in his barn, I used to love the look of that old thing. When he died, it went to my uncle who sold it to some collector. I was fucking pissed.”

  “Uh, yeah. I would be too. At least it went to a collector, though. Someone who you know is either gonna restore it or take care of it is better than a scrap heap.”

  “I don’t disagree,” he said and turned that charming smile on me again.

  “I’m going to grab a shower, you want to go first?”

  “Think it’d be okay to get this wet?” he asked pointing at his head, I frowned and shook my head.

  “Probably not for the first twenty-four hours.”

  “Well, the doctor has spoken. See you when you get out.”

  I nodded, and divested of the rest of my riding gear which, incidentally, was just chaps and boots. I set everything aside on the faux dresser with the TV on it and moved my helmet and the like on top of it, leaving my boots on the floor beside it.

  I grabbed a way oversized T-shirt out of my haversack, which was my usual sleeping attire, and a fresh pair of panties, opting for the boy shorts over the bikini cut that I had packed.

  “Back in a few.”

  “I’ll be here,” he promised, heaving himself to his feet.

  With a nod I disappeared into the bathroom, triumphant that they had one of those wall unit little hairdryers. My hair was thick and I fuckin’ hated sleeping on it wet. It turned into an unbearable disaster when I did.

  When I stepped into the hot shower spray I instantly relaxed, the hot water working its magic in easing the tension from the ride back ‘home’ right out of me. I did what I always did after a long ride and luxuriated in the wonderful heat as the road dust and grime washed down the drain. My namesake took over while I showered, my mind drifting this way and that, dreaming up different scenarios that involved Kyle between my thighs in just about every conceivable way.

  I daydreamed idly about what his tongue would feel like, lapping at my slit, that generous mouth of his sucking lightly on my clit. I damn near came just from my imagination. I smiled to myself and bowed my head beneath the spray, rinsing out the little hotel portion of conditioner that was never really enough for how much hair I had. I smiled to myself and it took a huge amount of restraint not to dip my fingers into my sex and finish the job my imagination started. I didn’t care whether or not it was right, I more cared about the fact he might hear me and that would be embarrassing; to say the least.

  I got out after shutting off the tap to an inordinate amount of steam coating the glass, and condensation running down the walls despite having the bathroom fan on full blast. I shrugged, it was an old motel, and even though I hadn’t lucked out with a non-smoking room, I had lucked out in that the place was scrupulously clean and the linens fresh. I used one towel for my hair and one for my body, drying off briskly, listening for the man outside the door.

  I slipped quickly into my boy short panties and ducked into the oversized boat neck T-shirt that hit me at mid-thigh and hung off one shoulder. It was a dark heather gray with a skeletal hand flipping the reader off. Around the hand the words ‘do no harm but take no shit’ which was essentially the Saintly Sinner’s motto.

  I sighed, and looked myself over. As far as women went, I was pretty plain to look at. I was a bigger girl at five foot ten and a size sixteen, but thankfully pretty proportionate. Thick, yes; but you would never guess I weighed as much as I did, nor that I wore size sixteen clothing just by looking at me. I was pretty evenly distributed. Lucky genetics for sure, probably the only lucky ones. I was thirty-two, and again, you’d never guess it. I didn’t look a day out of my mid-twenties, but despite having all of that going for me, I was still in that no man’s land of being considered too fat and not pretty enough. Or maybe that was my old insecurity talking.

  High school had been a bitch, and some old ghosts stuck with you, like the voices of my tormenters whispering from the past, disgusting pig, oh my God, do you see her? I closed my eyes and heaved a sigh, firing up the hair dryer, taking the time to finish defogging the glass so I could see myself better – without the douchebags’ of my youth’s filter.

  Fuck them, anyhow.

  I dried my hair, finger combing it as best I could having forgotten my hair brush out in the room. I could brush it just as easy dry, so I didn’t bother going out to get it. Never mind that it probably would have made this that much faster and easier. It doesn’t have anything to do with the lean hottie chillin’ out there. Nothing at all.

  Yeah, right.

  I finished drying my hair and breathed out, pulling my ‘I give zero fucks’ metaphorical big girl panties up before going out there. I’d just saved his ass off the side of the road, paid for a place for him to stay tonight, cleaned him up, doctored him up; the least the dude could do was be grateful and stuff any judgements he might have about me. I closed my eyes, doorknob to the bathroom gripped in my hand and remembered his hands on my hips, the gentle rhythmic caressing his thumbs did, back and forth, as I’d worked on him.

  I always found it hard to believe that a guy could be interested in plain ‘ol me, but by all accounts, everything he’d displayed thus far said he might be. It was food for thought as I opened up the door and left my insecurities at the threshold.

  Holy God almighty…

  He was in bed and the TV was on, casting flickering blue light into the golden glow of the lamplight, making shadows dance across his bare chest. His boots were neatly lined up in front of the nightstand, his jeans and tee shirt folded just as neatly on top. He had the blankets and bed sheet turned down to his hips in such a way that if he were wearing boxers, there was no telling. His dark lashes made crescents against his pale cheeks, circles like bruises beneath his eyes.

  I snuck my brush out of my bag, never taking my eyes off of him, and ran it through my hair while I let my gaze roam over him. His eyes flickered open and he stretched a little, wincing at what seemed to be his ribs protesting. He sucked in a shuddering breath and turned his attention to the corner of the room I was in, freezing me in mid-motion.

  “Sorry, I guess I dozed off,” he uttered, voice thick with sleep, those indigo eyes travelling from t
he floor, up my long stretch of leg. Yeah, okay, there was definitely some interest. Good to know it was a two-way street.

  “You’ve kind of had a hell of a day, Kyle,” I scoffed, and he nodded. He blinked a few times, frowned at the TV and clicked it off. I went around to the free side of the bed and he threw back the crappy hotel blankets in invitation. I arched one eyebrow, a little sad to see he indeed wore boxers underneath and slid in beside him.

  I lay on my side, arm bunched beneath the flat pillow and faced him. He winced, but managed to turn onto his side to face me. His hand reached out, freely resting on that part of my body that was just below the ribs but before the swell of my hip. A warm, intimate touch, the weight of his hand there sending champagne bubbles fizzing through my veins, causing my skin to tingle and goosebumps to raise on my flesh. He quirked those generous, kissable lips into a lopsided grin.

  “Cold?”

  “Nope, you?”

  “A little,” he confessed and I pulled the blanket up over us with my free hand.

  We were silent for a time, and I mirrored his touch, placing my hand similarly on his body. Indeed, his skin was cool to the touch and I could think of about a million ways I wanted to warm this stranger up.

  “So, what do you do, Dreamer?” he asked softly.

  “I’m an editor, freelance. I mostly edit novels for indie authors.”

  “Sounds tedious,” he murmured.

  “It can be, but it’s worth it; especially being a part of some of the success stories. The publishing industry can be a pain in the ass. I used to work for a publishing house and those guys can be fucking assholes about things. At least this way I can set my own hours and can take a kinder approach to deconstructing someone’s art.” I made a face, Kyle laughed.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  He laughed a little nervously this time but answered my question, “Real estate. Not my first choice, but I wanted a job that would provide for any family I might have one day.”

  I froze and asked the dreaded question, which I pretty much should have guessed by now, no one this hot could be single; I mean come on…

  “So, you married?”

  “Mm, nope,” he shook his head.

  “Girlfriend?” I ventured, and he pursed his lips, shaking his head again.

  “Gay?” I asked and he smiled, a spark of devilry in his eyes, leaning forward slowly, asking permission with his eyes before his lips touched mine.

  He kissed me, building it slowly, taking his time with it, his hand that had been tucked beneath his head, finding the side of my neck, caressing it lightly which shot rockets off in my central nervous system and fox fire racing along my nerve endings. Oh hell, he knew just how to trip my trigger.

  I kissed him back, slowly, languorously, and when he drew back, I felt nearly drunk with lust.

  “Not gay,” he said, voice husky with a longing of his own.

  “Noted,” I answered back, breathlessly.

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine again, his hand smoothing over my hip until he hit the bare skin of my thigh. He hummed into my mouth in appreciation and slid his hand under my shirt, his cool touch leaving a line of shimmering heat in its wake.

  He palmed my considerable breast and kneaded it with sure fingers and I gasped into his mouth, carefully hooking one of my legs over his hip and drawing him closer. He moaned into me and the length of his cock pressed into my stomach. I returned the gift of his touch by sliding my hand over the taut planes and angles of his more muscular physique, enjoying very much learning his body by braille.

  He broke his mouth from mine, wrenching a small sound of pretest from me, gasping out, “Off, these need off,” in a tone desperate with want. I obliged, sitting up and pulling the oversized tee off of me. I shimmied out of my panties and he sat up too, his cock jutting out the opening to his boxers, the tip slightly weeping with a glistening drop of pre-cum.

  He shucked out of his boxers as fast as I divested myself of my clothing, and then he reached for me, laying me down on my back. His mouth attacked the side of my neck, exploring, looking for that sweet spot and he found it. My body jerked, a cry tearing from my throat as I buried my fingers in his short, silky hair, lightly scratching my nails over his scalp. He hummed, an almost purring sound into the side of my neck as his hands whispered over my skin, stroking wherever they could reach as he teased the side of my neck, bringing me up to a fever pitch.

  “You’re so fucking warm and soft,” he breathed, “I felt like I was never going to be warm again.”

  He kissed down my body and I gasped, back arching. The fantasy I’d held in the shower became a reality when he pressed my hips flat to the mattress and licked a long, wet line up my pussy.

  “Oh god, Kyle!” I cried out and he hummed softly in appreciation. He teased me gently, slipping first one, then two fingers inside me, curling them expertly, just so to hit that sweet fucking spot. My hips bucked of their own volition and he put his entire forearm across my hips and pressed me back down.

  “Where you going?” he asked, a playful lilt to his voice, before he teased that place inside me again and lowered that beautiful mouth to my clit, sucking it gently.

  I almost hit the roof! An impassioned cry escaped my lips and bounced off the faded wallpaper back at me as he worried at my clit and G-spot in a maddening way, repeatedly stopping just shy of me reaching that pinnacle of success and waiting until he could build me up just that much higher. Finally, I thought I was going to go into full on sensory overload, my synapses frying beyond repair, when he chuckled against my pussy and sent me sailing right over the razor’s edge. I plunged into the warm, starry bath of orgasm and never wanted to come up for air.

  Oh my fucking god he was good. Better than anything I had dreamed up on my own.

  I lay quivering and panting and he climbed my body planting soft, feather light kisses on his way up.

  “Can I fuck you?” he asked softly and I found it incredibly hot that he would ask. I nodded mutely, gasping and he kissed my lips, a chaste thing compared to all the rest.

  He got a condom out of his wallet, fumbling a bit, and I watched him, fists still clutched in the sheets, as he tore it open with his teeth. His eyes never left mine as he rolled it down his thick length and the look he gave me was so intense.

  “I want to thank you for stopping,” he whispered as he got between my legs and guided himself to my entrance. He leaned forward, resting on one forearm beside my head as he slipped inside of me. My eyes started to drift shut at the exquisite feel of him but his voice stopped me.

  “No, Baby, no… keep those eyes on me, please. I want to see what I do to you. I want to see how everything I do makes you feel.” His voice became strained as he thrust into me to the hilt and when he touched bottom, I think I came again.

  Holy god. I came just from him sliding inside of me. That’d never happened before. He bowed his head as my body twitched and pulsated around his invading cock and he didn’t move, which I appreciated. It let me feel everything and I loved that.

  Somehow my hands untangled from their death grip on the sheets and made their way to the stubble along his jaw. I cupped his face gently and he dipped his head, kissing me deeply, so sweetly, as he picked up his pace, resuming his gentle slow strokes deep into my body. It was as if he were intent on savoring every sensation just as I was; and I marveled. I’d had plenty of sex, I’d even made love, but I’d never, not once, made love with a stranger. I’d never had an experience like this one, where two souls met, coming together so purely, so innocently, in perfect harmony.

  We lay like that forever, seemingly suspended in time. I don’t know how many more times he made me come, I lost count, but eventually it felt as if it all rolled into one long everlasting orgasm. I was floating on a river of endorphins. Warm, safe, and just blissed out, and I think Kyle was right there with me.

  I loved the way he moaned, his gasps were like honey to my ear, and when he drove gently into my sop
ping pussy for that last time, crying out so sweetly, his cock pulsating inside me as he came, I was a little sad that it had to end… But all good things had to end.

  He lay, draped atop me, and I felt cuddled and amazing, his cock slowly shrinking inside me. He gasped, and I gasped with him, both of us lost for breath, our hearts beating a frenzied rhythm, circling each other in an echoing race.

  “Thank you,” I breathed and kissed the side of his neck, idly running my hands through his hair as I remembered that he liked that. He pressed his lips against my shoulder in a reverent kiss and pulled out of me, dragging himself up into a kneeling position. His movements were languid, almost drugged and I knew how he felt. He retrieved the condom from my pussy and threw it aside in the wastebasket. I giggled.

  “Fucking reality,” I laughed and Kyle laughed with me between desperate breaths.

  “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” He dragged himself to his feet and stretched, he was long, lean, and muscular. That masculine kind of beauty that forced a woman to sigh in pleasure, just from looking at it. He padded into the bathroom and ran the water in the sink, returning with a hot washcloth. I reached for it, but he pulled my hand aside with his, and tended to me himself. I moaned and writhed a little bit, my pussy still super sensitive, and his touch just seemed to stoke the fires of my desire for him some more, rather than bank them.

  His eyes captured mine and he set the washcloth aside, coming back to bed. He gathered me into his arms and the kissing, it started all over again; so did the love making. I didn’t even care that we didn’t have another condom. I wanted him, I needed him as if he were suddenly the perfect drug, and I know it’s stupid, but it felt so much better the second time, so incredibly freeing, watching him move above me, skin on skin.

  I just couldn’t get enough.

  When I woke the next morning, I was warm, almost too warm, but I was alone. I sat up, blinking, and looked around the room. Kyle was gone. What’s more, his clothes were gone. His boots weren’t in front of the nightstand, his jeans and T-shirt missing. My tee and panties lay atop it instead, neatly folded. I groaned and sat up, feeling like I’d done something like a million crunches the night before, when all it really was, was my abs were sore from coming so much.