by Tia Siren
Copyright 2015 by Tia Siren - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Outlaw Biker’s Baby
A Biker Romance
By: Tia Siren
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Table of Contents
MOTORCYCLE Romance – Outlaw Biker’s Baby
MAFIA Romance – Owned and Protected
MAFIA Romance – Bought By the Hitman
ROCKSTAR Romance – Bad Boy British Rockstar
BILLIONAIRE BOSS Romance – What the Boss Wants, He Gets
BWWM Boss Romance - The Russian’s Love Child – Ella’s Story
BWWM PI Romance- The Billionaire’s Love Child: Keke’s Story
BWWM MAFIA Romance - The Russian’s Love Child: Nicki’s Story
SPORTS Romance - My Stepbrother’s Game – A College Hockey Romance
SPORTS Romance - Not With the Coach
SPORTS Romance – The Perfect Game
SPORTS Romance – Game On
SPORTS Romance – The Coach’s Game
STUDENT TEACHER Romance – Professor London
PARANORMAL SHIFTER Romance – The Bear’s Bravery
PARANORMAL SHIFTER Romance – The Dragon’s Desire
PARANORMAL Shifter Romance – To Lure a Mate
WESTERN BILLIONAIRE Romance - A Heart in Trouble
WESTERN BILLIONAIRE Romance - Gold in Texas
COLLEGE Romance Collection – College Desires
MOTORCYCLE CLUB Romance – Outlaw Biker’s Bride
MOTORCYCLE CLUB Romance – Bad Boy Biker Stepbrother
MOTORCYCLE Romance – Outlaw Bad Boy Biker
MOTORCYCLE CLUB Romance - Bad Boy Biker’s Bride
MOTORCYCLE Romance – Outlaw Biker’s Baby
1
The young woman looked over the bike. She put her hand on her chin, the way she remembered her father doing when she went with him to used car lots. He was a car guy; he loved buying old beat up ones, working on them for months at a time, and then selling them for huge gains. She stroked her chin though she obviously didn’t have a beard the way her cuddly bear of a father had.
Her name was Vanessa Keller, and her father had been dead for ten years by the time she was staring at the Harley at age twenty-two. His name had been George Heller, and it had been just the two of them until he died and had been since her mother had passed away when she was two. Mother dead as a toddler, father dead at twelve, and then she had gone to live with Aunt Kathy, out in Utah.
She hated Utah. It was too hot. Too dusty. Too boring. Well, mostly boring. From a young age and through her teen years Vanessa had found one thing she loved about Harrington Utah, the small town her aunt lived in. A massive biker gang, one of the largest in Utah was headquartered in Harrington. They were the Pythons, and the men in the biker gang all wore vests or jackets with an insignia stitched onto the back, a massive green snake coiled around a skeleton.
There were no women in the club proper though each man always seemed to have one on the back of his bike, thick girls with massive breasts and fat asses, long blonde hair, and as many tattoos as the men had.
Vanessa didn’t look like that. Not as a teenager, and not as a young woman. She was taller, thinner. She had rounded feminine hips, and a taut ass, but it wasn’t big. Her breasts were perky, perfectly formed, but she didn’t bust through her bras the way the biker chick’s all seemed too.
She was beautiful, though. He face was angular, perfect, her lips plump, her eyes a soft blue. She had a long string of boyfriends throughout school, but she always went for the bad boys, and things ended badly.
And still she was missing something. Those boys, the bad boys of high school, they weren’t bad enough. She had a thing for the bikers she saw all over town. Not the old ones, of course, the fat guys with their big white beards, she liked the young ones. Thin and tanned, with hard eyes and harder muscles. That’s what she wanted.
When she graduated, Vanessa planned on moving far away, but something stopped her. Instead, she went to a local college and got a degree in creative writing. She had always loved writing. She lived with her aunt while she went to school, commuting to the small campus every day. And then she graduated, and she didn’t know what to do.
She wanted to write. To be a writer. But she didn’t know what. She felt as though she had stories within her, stories she wanted to tell, but how to get started?
She wrote short stories and sent them into magazines and websites. Most were rejected, but some were published. Still, it wasn’t enough to live on. Aunt Kathy had always loved her, and had always taken care of her, but Vanessa could tell she would be happier if, now after college, she found her own place. Aunt Kathy had been married once, but divorced since before Vanessa’s father passed away. She dated off and on but had grown to enjoy a solitary lifestyle. She had no kids of her own and liked it that way. Vanessa sat down with the older woman and told her she would be getting a job and moving out. They hugged, and Vanessa felt a bit sad. She could feel the relief flowing off of her aunt.
She needed a job before she could find her own place. There were small apartments down on Mill Street, which was the main street which ran right through the center of Harrington. She could afford one if only she could find a job.
She was drawn to a few places downtown. A small antique store owned by an old woman who was an antique herself. Another was Nathan’s, a small diner. Vanessa was pretty sure she would make a good waitress. The last place she was considering applying to was The Devil Dog. That was a seedy bar at the far end of Mill Street, where the place was usually full of bikers, and Python’s more often than not. She could tend bar there; she was pretty sure, and she would be around those guys she had lusted after for so long.
Of course, Vanessa didn’t want to be at any of those jobs for long, they would just be until she wrote that great American novel she had in her. She ended up applying to all three places, and all three had her interview.
In the end she was offered a job by the old woman at the antique store, and Chet, the grizzled man who owned The Devil Dog. She took the job at The Devil Dog.
The hours were tough, but she had always been a night own anyways, she worked five days a week, all nights, going in seven and getting off at three in the morning on Monday’s, Thursday’s, Friday’s, Saturday’s, and Sunday’s. She had back to back days off, which was nice, and it turned out to be sort of like the weekend.
Chet was a nice man if a bit short with his employees. She didn’t get much guidance from him when she started beyond “Show your tits off and you’ll get more tips.” Luckily Susan took Vanessa under her wing.
Susan was in her early fifties, and she had been a bartender at The Devil Dog for over fifteen years. She was pretty, but her lined face was evidence of a live hard lived. She had been an alcoholic she freely admitted, though she had managed to be sober, even working in a bar, for over three years.
She spent a week showing Vanessa the ropes, and the often worked together. The only time Vanessa tended alone was on the ultra slow Monday’s, but she had one of the two cooks with her, both large muscular men, in case anyone got out of line.
In The Devil Dog, people got out of line often. Most of the customers were bikers, their black and chrome hogs like beasts from Hell when they pulled into the parking lot, and they were parked, slanting slightly against kick stands, in front of the long porch which wrapped around the front of the bar.
Most of the bikers were Python’s, but a few other clubs frequented the place as well. That was always likely to go up in like a powder keg. It only took one wrong word, one sideways glance, and men would be throwing punches. The bikers took their clubs seriously, and a slight against one man meant one against his fellow club members too. Vanessa found the whole thing a little bit silly, and she was wondering if she had made a mistake by picking the bar over the antique shop by her second week there.
As ridiculous as the grown men playing war was, she had to admit the younger men were exactly the types that got her motor revving so to speak. There were strong, and tough, and weren’t afraid to show their interest in her.
One of the most handsome, and one of the boldest, was a man in his mid-twenties named John. Of course, like most of the bikers that frequented The Devil Dog, no one called him by his real name. He had a nickname. Since starting her new job, Vanessa had been assaulted by idiotic nicknames all night. There was the fight Python with the bald head but the walrus-like mustache called Snakebite, and a younger guy with glasses that everyone called Dipstick. John, though, as far as biker nicknames went, his wasn’t bad. Tank. It wasn’t good of course, but at least, it wasn’t Dipstick.
Vanessa was fairly sure she knew why he was called Tank. His arms were massive, barely constrained in the sleeves of the leather jacket he always wore. His pecs pressed against the thin material of his tee shirts, and his legs were thick like tree trunks. He was a muscular man, and Vanessa was sure Tank would no doubt be able to best any man in the bar when it came to a fight or feats of strength.
Tank had taken a liking to Vanessa. She had seen him with women before, pretty but overdone young girls with massive tits and short skirts. Vanessa knew she was prettier, and she had heeded her boss’ advice and bought a few new low cut shirts when she was hired, but she still was restrained when she was compared to Tank’s girls. He cycled through at least three, and they would come into the bar with him, and giggle and laugh as he pulled them onto his lap, and they would grind their pert asses against his cock through his jeans.
The young bartender found herself grow jealous when she would see that. She yearned to be pulled onto his lap; she yearned to feel his dick grow hard beneath her. No matter if he was with a girl or not, when Vanessa worked, Tank was sure to spend some time at the bar, bullshitting with her.
One Saturday, after she had been working at The Devil Dog for almost three months, she finally gave into him. It was late, nearing three, when the bar shut down, and the bikers had to go find a bed to sleep it off in. Tank had come in with a girl, a pretty little blonde thing named Tiffany, but she had drank too much and thrown up and been taken home by a friend of hers. Since then Tank had been at the bar, smiling at Vanessa, flexing his muscles, and coming on to her in his own special way.
“I would love to slide my dick between your tits,” he said.
Vanessa laughed, blushing at his forwardness. “Me?” She asked.
“Yeah you, why not you?”
“Have you seen my breasts?” She asked.
“No, but I would love to,” Tank said with a grin.
“Trust me, they aren’t as big as your little blonde friend’s tonight,” Vanessa said. She was self-conscious about her own brunette hair, as soft and shiny as it was because she had only ever seen the biker with blondes.
“Ah, fuck her,” Tank said.
“That’s what I’m telling you to do,” Vanessa teased.
“Why you always gotta make it hard on me?” The biker asked her. “I complimented you.”
“You don’t really think telling a girl you want to tit fuck her is a compliment, do you?”
Tank laughed. “Sure it is. Hey, I got an idea, do a shot with me.”
“That’s a bad idea,” Susan said, stopping by on her way to the kitchen with a dirty plate.”
“Come on Susan, don’t piss all over our fun because you don’t have fun yourself no more,” Tank said, and Vanessa tried not to wince at his grammar. She was a writer after all.
“This one is bad news,” Susan said, ignoring Tank but nodding her head towards him. “Mark my words.”
“I can handle myself,” Vanessa said, and then she set two empty shot glasses on the bar. “What are we drinking?” She asked Tank as Susan went on, leaving them alone.
“Vodka,” Tank said, and he set a large bill on the bar. “As much as this will get us.”
Vanessa smiled and poured the first of many shots.
2
Vanessa left the bar thoroughly drunk that night. She had a small two-door which she had bought when she started college, but she left it in The Devil Dog’s parking lot. Instead, she found herself gripping tightly to Tank, on the back of his roaring Harley, as he headed for her home. It was just down Mill Street, at the far end, a few miles from the bar. She lived in a small place above a hardware store, her landlord the same man who owned the tool shop. She had a cramped living room and even tinier kitchen. A bedroom and a bathroom made up the place. It was a bit depressing, but it was home. Vanessa felt as though she was just starting out. The apartment, the job, it was all an adventure in a way. If she was still at either within a few years, maybe it would bother her, but for now, it was fun in a way.
Riding on the bike of the motorcycle was fun too. The thing was loud and heavy, and it vibrated between her legs. She held onto tank tightly, her hands on his well-defined abs, clenching onto them over his shirt when they went over a bump in the road. She wore his helmet, a black thing with straps that just covered the top of her head. Her brown hair whipped wildly behind her. He had drunk a lot, and she knew she should be riding with him, but when he had offered, she just couldn’t say no.
He pulled to a stop in front of her place. She had told him where she lived as she climbed onto the bike, and he had been familiar with Tom’s Hardware. He killed the bike, and after she got off, he did too. She took off his helmet and handed it to him. He set it atop the seat.
“Thanks for the ride,” the young woman said.
“I don’t do nothing for free,” the biker said with a grin. His teeth were white and straight.
“You want me to pay you for the ride? I didn’t know you were a taxi service.”
Tank laughed. “I don’t want money,” he said. He stepped forward; his body was just inches from hers. It was a cool night, but she could feel the heat radiating off of him.
“What do you want?” Vanessa asked, looking up to him. She was drunk, her head was buzzing, her thoughts swimming to and fro.
“I’m going to come inside, and I’m going to fuck you.”
Vanessa bit her lip. “Are you going to be rough with me?”
“You want me to be?”
“God yes,” the woman said, and then she jumped into his arms. Their lips met, her legs wrapped around his waist. She could feel his cock, already hard and pulsing beneath his jeans, pressing against her crotch, which was warm and wet, soaking her silky boy shorts. He walked forward with the woman in his arms until her back hit the door with cracked brown paint which led up stairs to her apartment door. She reached behind her, having fished her key out of her purse while they still kissed, and unlocked the door. They went in, and Tank carried her up to her place, where another locked door slowed them for only a second.
Inside Tank found his way to her bedroom, small and square, her tiny single bed taking up half of the room. She was embarrassed for a moment, clothes lay about, a purple vib
rator sat out on her nightstand, but it was all forgotten when he dumped her onto the bed after one last kiss where his tongue danced with hers. He had tasted like beer and cigarettes and mint, and she had never wanted someone more than she did right then.
Vanessa wasn’t a virgin, she had lost that title in highschool, and there had been a few men throughout college, but it had been a while, and the young woman was sure she had never been so wet in her life. She sat up, her legs off the end of the bed, with Tank standing right before her. She reached for his belt, pulled it off as he took his leather jacket off. She undid the fly of his jeans, and then he batted her hands away, pulling out his own cock. He was long and thick and cut, the head of his cock throbbing right in front of her face. She giggled and leaned forward, planting a kiss on the head, tasting the drop of precum which had been there.
“Hell no,” Tank said, and he reached down to her head, gripping the back of her hair painfully. She cried out, parting her lips, and when she did he thrust his hips forward so that his cock slid forcefully into her mouth. He pushed to her throat, and she gagged, looking up to him with watery eyes. He laughed and pulled his cock out of her mouth.
“Do it again,” she said, gasping for air, and he did so. In and out of her mouth, pushing to the back of her throat, forcing her to swallow the head of his cock each time, feeling his massive girth in her actual throat. He used her, her spit turning into a froth at the base of his cock as he fucked her mouth. He reached down as he was pushing in and out past her lips, his hand sliding down into her shirt through the low cut scoop, rough and calloused. He cupped her breast through the bra, feeling her hard nipple against his palm. She pulled back from his cock, and when he reached down to hold her head again, she pushed his hand away.
“Lay down,” she said, feeling some sense of authority, and the man grinned, but he did what she said. She stood up, turning so he could see her as she pulled her shirt off, and then unclipped her bra, letting the straps slide slowly down her shoulders. She tossed the bra away, exposing her perfectly round breasts.