Romance: Motorcycle Club Romance: Outlaw Biker's Baby (Contemporary Alpha Male MC Biker Romance) (Bad Boy MC Biker Pregnancy Romance)

by Tia Siren

  I went back out to my car, quickly. There was a chance no one would find Mr. Black or his two dead stooges until the end of the night when someone would go see why he hadn’t come out yet. That was if Vlad didn’t attempt to return sooner. I climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.

  I knew David Ramos. He lived in New York and had his fingers in every illicit thing you could think of, up and down the East coast. He was a big man, muscular and strong with a thick neck and biceps as big as my thigh. I didn’t care. I was going to kill him.

  I had to do some digging to find him, though. I hit up some old friends, guys in the business but who worked for other bosses. I found out I was on everyone’s lips. Mr. Black had put it out to find me and kill me. Ramos was backing him up. Ramos was the man in charge of the slavery ring, and he was embarrassed in front of the other bosses. He wanted me dead as much as Mr. Black had.

  It took some doing, but as the Sun was rising, I had him. I had tracked him down to a high-rise building in the center of times square. It would be tough; I knew that much. Ramos would have ten men, twenty even, protecting him. My boss had been big time, but Ramos made him look ridiculous. I got into an elevator on the ground floor, and headed for the penthouse apartment, at the very tip of the building. It was a long ride, and I got prepared for what I was about to do. There was a chance I wasn’t going to make it. I would fail. There was a chance, but I felt good about my odds. I had rage and anger on my side. I had Chloe. The elevator stopped, the doors slid open with a ding, and I thought of her as I lifted my shotgun up.

  4

  I had told Chloe that I would be a couple of days, but I returned to her almost twenty-four hours after I had left. She was in the living room, wearing one of my tee shirts and boy shorts which hugged her ass. I came in, my shirt splattered with blood, most of it not my own. I had a busted lip, and a bullet had grazed my arm, but I had given way worse than I had gotten.

  The young woman came to me as soon as I unlocked and opened the door, and she wrapped her arms around me. I thought she would speak, or I thought I would, but she pressed her lips to mine, and I kissed her instead, wincing as pain shot through my busted lip, but not willing to stop our kiss.

  My arms went around her, and when she was sure I was in a position to support her weight she lifted her feet from the floor and wrapped her legs around my waist. Her panty clad crotch was pressed against my own, and immediately my dick began to pulse and grow rigid.

  I thought about carrying her up the wooden stairs to the bedroom, but we never got that far. The Cabin was cozy, two small floors, but it was private enough, and I just took two steps to the couch before turning and sitting, so she was on my lap. She giggled as we kissed, and wriggled a bit, grinding against my manhood.

  My fingers pulled her shirt up and over her head, and I buried my face in her breasts as she was wearing no bra. My lips found a nipple, my tongue flicked it back and forth, my teeth nibbled softly. She groaned and moaned, her head tilted back.

  She climbed off me and lowered herself to her knees before me. Her fingers were slow, her move delicate as she unbuttoned my pants and pulled them off along with my shoes and socks. She left me in my boxer briefs for a moment, my cock hard and evident. She planted kisses on my inner thigh, then switched to the other.

  Finally, she gave my boy some attention, reaching a slender hand up the leg of my underwear and gripping my dick. She amused herself by sliding my cock out through the same leg of my boxer briefs, and then took me into her mouth.

  Chloe gave the best head in the world. I had already gotten to know that. She was perfect. She built to the right speed, applied the right pressure with her hand. She gripped me at the base of my cock and held me where she wanted me, her lips and tongue and mouth handling the rest. When I could almost take no more, I forced her to stop and moved her to the couch.

  I reached up and pulled her panties off. She was nude now, and she smiled as she watched me look up and down her body. I loved every inch of it. I sent my fingertips up and down, from her toes to her forehead. Then I used my hands to part her legs and buried my face in her pussy. She smelled great and tasted better. I lapped at her pink slit, and she gave me plenty to lap up, her pussy wet and warm.

  My cock was aching to be inside her, so I didn’t make him wait any longer. I got up off of my knees and then positioned her, so she was facing away from me, knees on the cushion of the couch, arms on the back. I slid into her tight pussy, pushing until I had nothing left to give, and then pulling back.

  “No one has had my ass,” she whispered, and looked to me over her shoulder. I didn’t need to be told twice. I pulled my slick cock from her, and then spread her ass cheeks with both hands. Her butthole was tight, and I rubbed the head of my cock against it until she opened up and I could slide in. If her pussy was tight, her asshole was like nothing I had ever felt. She groaned and bent her head forward, burying her face in the back of the couch. I knew she was in pain, but she reached between her legs and began rubbing her own clit, and I knew she was enjoying it as well.

  She came right before I did. Biting into the couch cushion and screaming. I had my hands on her ass cheeks, spreading them, groping them, leaving red lines in her tanned flesh. She must have known I was about to come, because she called to me once more, turning her head over her shoulder.

  “Come in my pussy,” she moaned. “Please.”

  Looking back, I wondered if she knew. Up to that point, I hadn’t come in her before. I had always pulled out, plastered her face, or sent stringy white strands of cum over her big tits. But now, I pulled my cock out of her ass and shoved forward into her pussy, just as my cock jumped, and I came. I threw my head back and arched my hips, and sent all I had into her. When I pulled out, she stayed like that for a minute, back to me, on the couch, and I saw a bit of my come leak from her gushing pussy.

  We went to sleep after that. We woke up in the morning, and we knew things had changed. We kissed, but we didn’t fuck, and we didn’t make love.

  “I’m safe?” She asked me over breakfast, simple bowls of cereal.

  I nodded.

  “Are you?”

  “I think so,” I said with a grin.

  “So I can go back?”

  I sighed and nodded.

  “I love you,” she said. “I do.”

  “I know,” I said. “I love you too. But… you don’t belong here. You aren’t mine.”

  Chloe smiled to me, it was sad and sweet and filled with longing. “I am yours. You bought me.”

  “Two days later I saw her off at an airport in Boston. She was headed home. I stood for a long time after she had gone, watching the planes land and take off through a large window which overlooked the tarmac. I knew I would never forget my bought bride.

  *****

  THE END

  ROCKSTAR Romance – Bad Boy British Rockstar

  There was a flash of light when Josh Bloodstone entered the room. It was the biggest gathering of journalists the hotel had ever seen. Josh stood at the door and raised his arms above his head. Flash after flash illuminated his face. He was surrounded by bodyguards and press officers from his record label.

  ''Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,'' a man in a suit said. ''I'm Harry Jones from Brandy, Josh's label. Thank you for coming to the Hilton today. We are so proud of Josh and what he has done. He's the world's number one recording artist as we speak.'' More flashes, this time as Josh reached the stage. ''As you have been told you have half an hour to ask Josh what you want. Please refrain from asking anything about his personal life. Keep it about his music.''

  The man stood aside, and Josh stood by the microphone. He looked strangely out of place in the luxury hotel. It was supposed to be a place where gray-suited business people met, not a place for a tattooed, pierced pop star.

  ''Right,'' Josh said. ''I ain't got all fucking day. So ask your filth.'' His manager, standing just off stage, cringed. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get Josh to stop swearin
g. Surely it couldn't be so hard to stop. But Harry Jones had been to Eton and Josh had been to some unmentionable state school in the back streets of Manchester.

  ''Josh, I'm Simon Hetherton from the Telegraph, can I....?''

  ''Wow even the posh bastards are here today. I must be doing something right.'' There was a chuckle in the room.

  Simon continued. ''Josh, can I ask you what you think about what the Prime Minster said about you the other day?''

  ''You mean that tone deaf tosser who's fucking our country? He's a liar and a cheat, and he should be put in the Tower of London.''

  ''But what do you say to his specific words? In the House of Commons he called you the worst of British,'' Simon pressed.

  ''I'll tell you who the worst of British are. Those faggot politicians. They're bleeding us dry.'' Josh swept his hand through his bleached hair and adjusted one of the rings on his fingers. ''No, but seriously. I have sold over sixty million records, this year. Do you know how much tax I'm gonna pay? More than all those assholes put together, so don't give me no shit about being the worst of British.''

  ''Josh, I'm Richard Evans from the Rock and Roll Times....''

  ''You can fuck off straight away. You called me a prick in your article. What was it? Yes, that's right. The biggest prick on the planet. I'm not the biggest prick on the planet, I've got the biggest prick on the planet.'' People roared with laughter, and Richard Evans sat down defeated.

  ''Josh, I'm Jon Cookeridge from US Rolling Stone. Are you going to be touring the States soon?''

  ''At last, a proper fucking question. Yes, Jon we've got something in the planning. I think we'll be in the US in October and November. Is that right Tubby?'' Josh looked at Harry who nodded. ''Tubby will send you details Jon, okay?''

  ''Josh, it's Emma from the BBC....''

  ''Fuck me the BBC. I must be doing well. She's a bit of alright as well isn't she,'' Josh said pointing at Emma.

  ''Are you anti-women?'' Emma continued.

  ''Why do you ask that?''

  ''The way you talk about women, it seems disrespectful.''

  ''Oh does it, little Miss Perfect? Listen I love women, ain't nobody who loves more women that I do.'' The male members of the audience giggled. ''What would you girls do without me? You all wanna piece of me, admit it. Even Emma here. She's acting all prudish, but she wants it really. Look she's blushing, she really wants it.''

  ''I'm Harriet from the Times. Josh, talking in that manner really isn't going to get you very far. Don't you think it's insulting to women? Because I do.''

  ''Is that a question? Jesus your poor husband. I bet you make him beg when he wants to fuck you. Although why anyone would want to do that to you, I have no frigging idea. Tubby, I've had enough of this shit. Only one reasonable question, the rest were just prodding into my private life.''

  Josh walked off the stage to more flashes. His bodyguards surrounded him and took him out of the room.

  When they reached his hotel room, Josh opened the mini bar and took out a beer. ''Well that was a bunch of laughs.''

  ''Josh, you've got to stop swearing at everybody. The things you said about Emma and Harriet were unforgivable,'' Harry said.

  ''Fuck off, Tubby. What the hell do you know? The last time you dipped your wick the fucking Titanic was still in construction. Listen, I'm who I am. I write music and sing. I like to screw women, and I like to drink a few beers. What I don't like are people telling me what to do.''

  ''Insulting people isn't good for sales, though,'' Harry complained.

  ''I call you Tubby because you're a fat fucker. That hasn't stopped you working with me has it?''

  ''I only do that for the money, though. Do you think I would put up with you if you weren't a darn good earner for the label?''

  ''No I don't think you would, and I wouldn't blame you.'' Josh snapped the top off the bottle and took a swig.''But it's all about money. All those parasites just now were here to interview me because I'm selling their papers and magazines. What do you think sells better Tubby, a story about me insulting the bitches in the press or a story about my grandmother and how much she loves my music?'' Josh lay down on the bed and opened his shirt. The large Eagle on his chest looked ready to swoop down and peck Tubby's eyes out.

  ''I know Josh. I get the game too. But it's going too far. You just can't swear and insult people so much.''

  ''Who gives a toss. I don't insult my fans; they know I love 'em. But the press can fuck off and so can that asshole Prime Minster. Who the fuck does he think he is?''

  *****

  The crowd cheered, and the fireworks exploded. This was a Josh Bloodstone concert at it's best. The stadium was packed with fifty thousand adoring fans. Josh was the man women loved and men admired. When he bounced onto the stage, people went wild. He was the best-selling British artist since the Beatles. A household name, a person that you either, loved or hated. He was known in every household young or old.

  It wasn't his music that had made him known to the older generation; it was Josh's ongoing feud with the Prime Minister. Josh wasn't a supporter of any party; he was on the side of fairness and honesty. One day the Prime Minister had said that the popular entertainment business was corrupting young kids into using drugs and alcohol. A journalist had asked Josh for his view on the Prime Minister's statement, and Josh had gone to town. He'd told the journalist that the Prime Minister was using words from the nineteen sixties and that he was a prude, and had done nothing for young people who happened to have the highest rate of unemployment in any category. He'd also cited the Prime Minister's reputation as a womanizer as not being a good example for young men. Once Josh had made it personal, the Prime Minister was out to get him and ruin him. But it was impossible. The kids loved him, and so did a lot of older people.

  Josh threw his microphone stand in the air and caught it again. ''Hello Birmingham. How are you doing?'' The crowd erupted. ''What do with think of that asshole in number ten?'' he shouted. The stadium booed. 'What?'' the booing became louder.

  When the first song started the crowd sang along, it was word perfect. It had been a number one hit in the UK charts for weeks.

  Trish and Poppy were bouncing up and down at the front singing as loudly as they were able. They'd queued for hours to make sure they got a place at the front. From where they were, they could see him very well. As he sung and danced, the two shouted his name. ''Josh we're here. Come and get us.'' Poppy's breasts bounced up and down in her vest as she jumped in time to the beat. ''Oh my God, he's so good looking. Look, Trish, look how well hung he is.''

  ''Oh my God yes. Jesus,'' Trish said. ''I bet he's got a whopper.''

  The last song Josh sang was a rock ballad about a young man's first love and how she jilted him. Trish and Poppy cried at the lyrics and the sound of Josh's voice as it hit the top note. ''Oh God,'' Trish shouted unable to contain herself. ''Josh come here and kiss me,''

  Poppy screamed. ''Josh we love you. We'll always love you.''

  Josh came and went and sang an encore. When he left the stage altogether, people began to file out of the stadium. But Trish and Poppy were determined. They were both eighteen and blonde, with large breasts and great bodies. ''If we hang around maybe he'll notice us,'' Poppy said.

  ''I just wanna shag him. He makes me so.......'' She didn't finish her sentence. A huge black man leaned over the barrier and waved to them.

  ''Josh wants you to come backstage.''

  The girls screamed. Trish began to cry. ''No way?''

  ''Yes. He wants to talk to you two. Jump over the barrier.'' He caught them when they reached the other side. Trish was wearing jeans, but Poppy had more trouble in a skimpy skirt.

  ''Oh my God, that's him,'' Trish cried when they got to a large room behind the stage.

  Josh saw them in the distance and walked over to them. ''Alright ladies? You two are gorgeous. I heard you shouting at me. So you love me do you?''

  The two were now a little shy. Here was a man who had taken
the world by storm, a man who flew all over the world and who was unimaginably handsome and rich. ''Yes we love you, Josh. You're great. Your music is so cool,'' Trish said.

  ''Yes Josh, we do love you. You're great for young people in our country.''

  ''So why don't you two come and have a drink with me and the boys. Would you like that?'' The girls looked at each other unable to hide their excitement.

  ''Oh my God,'' Trish whispered to Holly. ''Do you think he wants to .......you know?''

  ''I dunno. He can't come with both of us. Can he?'' Poppy said.

  ''I suppose he could if wanted to. But that would make us a bit lesbian as well,'' Trish observed.

  ''I don't give a dam. If he wants me, I don't care if I've got to see you naked as well.''

  ''Jesus Poppy, you are up for it,'' Trish said.

  ''Right ladies. A glass of bubbly each. Here we are. Cheers, here's to you two beauties. That's Trev, the drummer.'' The two looked at a very hairy man with huge biceps and a lot of earrings. ''And that's lead guitar, Andy.''

  ''God he's so nice,'' Trish whispered to Poppy with reference to Andy. Andy Pearson was widely known as the best rock guitarist in the world. His looks made him a regular on the covers of both men and women's magazines.

  ''Yer he is. Tell you what, you have him, and I'll have Josh,'' Poppy said.

  They drank another three glasses of champagne by which time the two women were quite tipsy. Josh put his arm around Poppy and whispered to her. ''Do you wanna come to my room. I've got everything up there, except drugs. I hate drugs.''

  Poppy instantly wished she was on the pill. ''I can't leave Trish,'' she said. ''Do you want us both to come to your room?''

  ''It's an idea, but she looks like she's doing fine with Andy.''

  ''I suppose.''

  Poppy had had enough to drink, and when they got to Josh's room, she asked him if she could order some food. ''Course we can, darling. We can get whatever you want.'' Josh called room service and ordered a seafood platter with bread and yogurt.