Biker Chicks: An Anthology of Hot MC Romance

by AJ Downey

  “You sure about this?”

  I had no words. I kissed him instead.

  I had never kissed anyone before. I’d been kissed a few times but as I slid my hands up Gabriel’s neck and drew his face to mine, I learned how the two were as different as night and day. Our lips met on my terms, and a jolt went down my spine as I pushed myself deeper into his arms, pouring my want into the kiss I’d started. I worked my mouth against his until I ran out of breath, a moan springing unbidden from deep in my throat.

  No, kissing and being kissed weren’t the same thing at all. After we broke apart I stared into his eyes while we stood forehead to forehead, my eyes locked on his.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, voice half a growl.

  “You should.”

  “I will,” he said, his hands sliding down my hips...and hoisting me into his arms. His mouth went to my throat, nipping just hard enough that I felt teeth; I gasped, sensation running down my spine like summer lightning as my legs went around his waist. I threw my arms around his neck and pressed my body against his.

  “Bedroom?”

  “Th-that way,” I said, waving my hand. I’d never had anyone carry me to bed before.

  Am I really doing this? I sank my hands into his hair, planting kisses on his unshaven cheeks, my hips grinding against the front of his jeans. My back hit the bedroom door and opened it while my mouth worked at Gabriel’s ear. Yes. I kissed him harder, doing my best to ignore my fears and embrace the want I felt. Yes I am.

  He tossed me on my bed and crawled in after me, shedding his jacket and vest on the way, mouth fastening on mine as soon as we were close enough and hands sliding up under my blouse to unhook my bra, whispering across the skin I despised. I wanted to be touched but I didn’t want to be seen. Such had always been my problem. When my blouse fell away along with my bra I pulled closer to him so I could hide.

  “It’s okay, honey,” he murmured into my hair, hands running up and down my bare back. “I like what I see.”

  “You do?” My voice was a strangled whisper.

  He cupped my cheek with his palm, drawing my face up so we could see eye-to-eye. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  He kissed me, thumbs sliding over my nipples with a fierce brand of gentleness, and my fears melted before the heat of my want. Fuck it, I’m doing this. I forced my tongue deeper into his mouth, leaning into his touch. I’m fucking doing this.

  I pulled at his shirt and he helped me get it off him, sliding my hands across his chest; Gabriel wasn’t ripped, but I could feel the power in him as I traced my fingers down the flat wall of his stomach, daring to touch him with hands that grew bold all on their own. He growled in my ear when my hands found his cock, and I loved the sound of it as he tore at what remained of my clothing. I left off my awkward in-the-pants stroking and tore at his clothes in turn. Fuck clothing, I thought as we stripped garments from each other and threw them this way and that. Fuck my issues, fuck my trauma.

  “More,” I moaned.

  “Relax,” he said, whispering into my bare leg between kisses along its length. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.”

  Then his mouth found my clit and I could speak only in gasps; I writhed and whimpered while he worked me over with lips and tongue, my hands twisted deep in his hair. My spine arched into a question mark that wanted an answer like I’d never wanted anything in my life, the muscles in my back and thighs clenched like wire stretched to the breaking point.

  Fuck the rules. I hooked my arms under his and pulled him on top of me, sinking my mouth in his neck when he put his cock in me, every breath an animal pant, my nails and teeth buried in his flesh the same way his cock was buried in mine. My world narrowed to the rhythm of our bodies, his skin on my skin, the touch we shared. Fuck everything.

  When I came everything went away; a half-dozen thrusts later he joined me, head thrown back and teeth bared. A moment later his lips were at my cheek and his arms tight around me, his body hot as a furnace against mine.

  It was a long time before my breathing came back to normal; when it did we were curled up beneath the sheets, his arms around my waist, his breath tickling the hairs on the nape of my neck. In that time, no one spoke. I enjoyed the warm-bath feeling as long as I could; I knew what would come after.

  With the return of sanity and reason came an emotion I’d learned to fear; the sex hangover, that moment where guilt about what I’d done set in. It was like eating too much only worse. I might have been without clothing, but the sex hangover always made me feel naked in more ways than one. I pulled closer to him, seeking a thing I had no name for.

  His arms went tighter around me. “You okay?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

  “Look, I’m sorry if I was out of line,” he said.

  I rolled over to look him in the eye. “No, you weren’t. You so weren’t. I just...well...” I laid my head against his chest. “I don’t usually do this.”

  Thick fingers slid under my chin and tipped my head up so I was once again looking at his face. “It wouldn’t bother me any if you did.”

  It took me three tries to get words out. “I think you mean that,” I said.

  He ran a thumb across my cheek. “I do,” he said. “You think you the only one who was hoping to get noticed?”

  “Wait...what?”

  He grinned, that same easy smile I already wanted to see more of. “I noticed you, honey. I saw you looking at me. Why do you think I smiled back?”

  I shook my head, confused. “But you didn’t do anything.”

  “I only look at women who look at me,” he said. “I only talk to ones who talk to me. And I only flirt with ones who flirt first.”

  “Why?”

  His broad shoulders moved in a shrug. “It’s how I roll.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t think of much else to say to that. He settled me into the crook of his arm, pulling the sheets over us both.

  “See you in the morning,” he said.

  I believed him.

  I woke up to an arm slung over my shoulders. It took me a minute to remember why it was there, not to mention who it belonged to. The nerves tried to come back, but the arm pulled me closer and I heard a vague mmm from behind me, a masculine sort of purr. A smile came to my lips, and before I knew it I had drifted back to sleep.

  When I woke up for real I was alone. I sat up in tangled sheets, and without arms to hold me cold pragmatism stole into my thoughts. Where was the guy I’d gone to bed with?

  I glanced around the room; my clothes were scattered about the foot of the bed as well as his T-shirt, his boots, vest and jacket leaning against my nightstand. His clothes being here meant he was still here.

  There was a condom wrapper sitting next to my alarm clock and I relaxed a good deal. I couldn’t take birth control; between mood swings and weird appetite cravings the pill sent me straight to crazy town. With both my previous lovers I’d had to insist on using condoms, but last night I’d been too wound up to make an issue out of it. Gabriel had apparently used one anyway.

  I ran my fingers through my sleep-tangled hair and shook my head. Trusting a guy to remember stuff like that was a great way to become a single mom. “Dumb,” I muttered.

  I found my nightgown and robe and padded out into the hallway, intent on a shower. When I opened the door I heard rattling in the kitchen and smelled something warm and delicious. Curious, I turned the corner into the living room/kitchen instead...and stopped in my tracks.

  I blinked once, long and slow. Did it again. No, my eyes hadn’t lied to me; there was in fact a large muscular man cooking French toast in my kitchen wearing only a pair of jeans.

  Gabriel looked over his shoulder at me. “Morning, honey. Hungry?”

  What. The hell. “...yes?”

  He grinned. “Good.”

  “You need a hand?”

  “Naw, I got this,” he said.

  I took a seat at my kitchen table, watching him wor
k – and, I had to admit, admiring the view. His arms and chest were covered by tattoos, some intricate, others fuzzy and faded; a Norse dragon took up the left half of his chest, arms a mishmash of skulls and barbed wire, a red scorpion on his right forearm. Three pale puckered circles of scar tissue sat on his shoulder, a ragged L of the same crawling across his stomach, all half-hidden by black hair.

  Several minutes later both of us were sitting at my table munching on French toast. “This is delicious,” I said, meaning it.

  “Glad you like,” he said. “It was all I could find the ingredients for.”

  “I’m not much of a cook,” I said.

  “Neither am I,” he said.

  I popped a bite of toast into my mouth. “I beg to differ.”

  He grinned. “Again, glad you like.”

  There was a long moment of silence made awkward by the reality of my situation; I’d gone to bed with a man I’d just met, and now I was having breakfast with him. Breakfast he’d cooked for me. None of my prior experiences in the dating game prepared me for what to say next. Here be dragons.

  “So about last night,” I said.

  “Yeah, about that.”

  “I’m not looking for anything serious.” I’m lonely and I’m awkward and I like you. “I was just...well, I – “

  “Want to take up with me?”

  “Are you asking me out?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

  Another long silence, one driven by my anxieties.

  “So what’s your answer?”

  My heart did a backflip before I put a word to what was in it.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He slid his hand across the table and laced his fingers through mine. “Glad to hear it.”

  I smiled at him, and the storm in my head and heart calmed. But only for a moment; I glanced at the clock and real life checked back in.

  “Crap, I need to get to class,” I said. I want to go back to bed with you.

  “Want a lift?”

  I squeezed his hand. “I’d love one.”

  Twenty minutes later I was on the back of his bike, the wind roaring in my ears. I’d dressed more appropriately for the ride; without the cold air sneaking into my clothes it was even more fun. The throb of the engine made me wonder what it would be like to be the one with the bars in my hands, to be the one in control. I glanced to my left and saw two children in the back of a minivan, noses pressed against the glass, staring at us with wide eyes. About the way I had looked back at sixteen when the bus had taken me past the Longstriders’ clubhouse. It was strange beyond words to be on the other side of the pane.

  All too quickly we pulled into the U of W parking lot. Gabriel killed the engine and eased the kickstand down. “Close as I can get you,” he said.

  “Why is that?”

  “Any closer and campus security will hassle me.” He patted the knife on his belt. “School’s got a no-weapons policy.”

  I dismounted and handed him back his spare helmet. “Look, I...um...”

  “Got something to tell you,” he said.

  “What?”

  He leaned over, caught my chin in his fingers and kissed me with as much passion as he had in my bedroom the previous night. I moaned as his hand slid into my hair, lips working against mine. In that moment I wanted to be anywhere but out in public. I pushed the kiss deeper, fingers twined in his hair just as he did to me.

  “That’s what,” he said when we broke apart.

  I giggled. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Believe it, honey.” He fired up his bike.

  “Call me?”

  “You got my number,” he said over the noise of the engine. “You’re the one with the busy schedule. Call me when you’re free.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He nodded, twisted the throttle and off he went. I watched him go, the tingles from his kiss running up and down my spine.

  “Who was that?”

  I turned. It was Richard, a boy from my Psych class who had asked me out a few weeks ago. Still stinging from Ryan’s betrayal, I’d turned him down.

  “My boyfriend,” I said.

  “You told me you’d sworn off dating.” His voice had a sulky edge to it. Previously such a display would have made me feel guilty, but instead of placating his ego I spoke my mind.

  “No,” I said. “I told you I was done with boys.”

  His reply was a churlish frown. It proved my point better than anything I could’ve come up with. I walked away without another word. It felt good.

  Three days passed without me calling Gabriel, three days of me staring at my phone a lot and not pushing any buttons. Three days of my issues gnawing at my heart, each day worse than the last. For once it was my job to do the calling, and I sucked at it. I knew it was stupid, but I couldn’t help the worry that I wouldn’t get an answer, and each passing day meant that was more likely, which made me more afraid to call and find out.

  In the end I looked up Honey’s in Sea-Tac, and found myself bussing down to it. According to the logic of my feelings, going to where Gabriel worked was less scary than calling him. I sighed as I stepped off the bus. Some days my issues didn’t make sense even to me.

  Honey’s was a gray concrete box with a golden neon sign over the awning, overlooking a parking lot half-full of cars, a line of three bikes parked close to the door. The bikes gleamed like they’d just come off the showroom floor, flames and skulls painted on the gas tanks. A guy about my age and height in faded denim paced next to them, his arms folded over a black leather vest with “PROSPECT” on its back. I gave him and the bikes a wide berth as I walked to the door, my ever-present stomach butterflies in full swing.

  The doorman wasn’t Gabriel; I showed him my ID and handed him the cover charge. He nodded and went back to ignoring me.

  Loud rock music and hot air slapped me in the face when I opened the door, along with the smell of sweat and Lysol. The lighting was too dim to make out much beyond the vague shapes of men sitting at tables and half-clad women circling between them; the only well-lit person was the busty redheaded girl on stage clad in nothing but high heels, making a slow turn on a brass pole. I stood near the entryway, unsure of what to do next. I’d never been in a strip club.

  “You look lost,” someone said. I turned.

  The speaker was a dark-haired woman in her late twenties, tall and willowy, wearing nothing but a scanty black bikini held together by bows at her hips and shoulders.

  “I am,” I said over the music, trying not to stare; from the tops of her shoes to the backs of her hands to the point of her chin she was more ink than skin, whorls of Celtic knots and rose-studded vines competing with skulls and blue flames.

  “I’m guessing you aren’t here to look at tits,” she said.

  I blushed. “I’m looking for Gabriel. He works here.”

  She cocked her head. “And you are...?”

  “I’m his girlfriend.” I think. I hope.

  Her black eyes widened. “No shit?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was done up in an elaborate half-braid I never could have managed, the rest spilling loose down her back.

  “Yeah.”

  Without asking she grabbed my hand. “In that case, come with me. I have to introduce you.”

  “Um,” was all I had time to say before I was pulled me along behind her. When she turned I caught a tattoo on her neck; a sunburst with the words PROPERTY OF ROACH inside it.

  She paused after a few steps and turned back around. “Oh yeah...I’m Savannah.”

  “Alyssa,” I said.

  “Now that we got that sorted out, come on.” She winked at me before continuing to pull me deeper into the club, hips swaying in a way that drew my eyes. My cheeks warmed; I’d always been bi-curious and her strut brought those curiosities closer to the surface.

  Our path brought us to a table with two men sitting at it, both wearing biker gear. One had his back to me; his vest had a grinning sku
ll in a jester’s cap above crossed hatchets and a fan of cards stitched into it between curved panels reading FREAK PATROL MC TACOMA. The other man looked up as we approached, teeth flashing in a smile.

  “What’s up, ‘Vanna?” He was clean-shaven, handsome Latin features marred by a scar across his cheek.

  “Got somebody for you to meet,” she said. She held up my hand. “This,” she said, “is Hannibal’s squeeze.”

  His eyebrows jumped. “Holy shit, you’re kidding.”

  The other man turned to look; he had a face like a bulldog, head shaved except for two huge sideburns. “Huh,” he said in a rough voice.

  My stomach churned; I had no idea what this was about and that scared me. My palms were sweaty, feet itching with the urge to bolt. “Um, hi,” I said. “I’m Alyssa.”

  “Roach,” said the handsome one.

  “Boz,” said the other.

  Savannah pulled out a chair. “Come on, sit down,” she said.

  “Okay,” I slid into the seat, gripping the edge to avoid fidgeting. “You guys know Gabriel?”

  “Sure do,” said Roach. “He’s...kinda with us.”

  “Roach,” said Boz, warning in his tone.

  “Relax, brother,” said Roach. He turned back to me. “Anyhow, Hannibal’s off tonight.”

  “Oh,” I said, disappointment stabbing me in the gut.

  “No worries,” said Savannah. “I’ll text him.” She had her phone out and was punching keys before I could say anything.

  “Meantime,” said Roach, “you can wait with us.”

  “I...wouldn’t want to impose,” I said as the urge to run away got stronger.

  “It’s no trouble,” said Roach. “Besides, you’re better off sitting here. This place can get a little rowdy.”

  Savannah set her phone on the table. “Before we go any further,” she said, “there’s the matter of our wager.”

  Roach winced. “Aw c’mon, I was just kidding around.”

  “A bet’s a bet,” she said. “You lose, fucker...pay up.”