by Lexy Timms
“Nowhere in particular. A place to stop and see who comes this way or goes by.”
“From here? Can you even see the road?”
“I don’t need to see it to know if we’ve been followed.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve got more than one of my senses that work. There’s a little thing called hearing.”
I pressed the button to lower my window. “All I can hear are birds and maybe a few vultures circling.”
“All I can hear is you talking.”
Damn him.
I quieted down and let him do his thing. After about twenty minutes, he stunned me by reaching a hand to the side of my face and tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. My skin grew warm under his rough yet gentle touch, and then I pulled away and pushed his hand off me.
“If you want me to be quiet, be sure not to touch me. And what are you doing anyway? Are you the president of sending mixed signals or something? You just told me last night was a mistake and now you’re touching me like…well like that.”
The hand I pushed away came to rest on my bare knee closest to him. “Be quiet. It was a mistake, but I don’t regret it.”
I had no reply to that, because that hand of his slid higher up my left thigh under my jeans skirt and distracted the hell out of my ability to think or speak. In fact I had to force myself not to give him the satisfaction of moaning out the pleasure that started to build when that hand made it to the top of my thigh and caused me to part my legs to let him roam over my lacy panties. His fingers found the seam of those panties, which were soaking wet by then, and slid under it. My stomach clenched, my eyes closed and my breathing changed when he cupped my mound, and then a second later he let go.
I opened my eyes.
He was stepping out of the Jeep. Wow. Great timing.
Maybe I was being impatient, because he walked around the front to my side and opened my door as wide as it could go.
“What?”
“Shhhhh,” he said, and undid my seatbelt.
Kane put his hands on my knees again, and this time, turned me gently to face him. I was close to panting when he slid my skirt up my legs, spread me wide, and ducked down, pressing his lips to my mound through those panties.
“God, woman. You’re so wet,” he hummed against my already throbbing clit.
He reached one hand up my back to my neck, and pulled me down to rest my head on the driver seat. Kane was about to make my body buzz. Here behind this abandoned house. Off this dirt road. In the middle of nowhere. In broad daylight. Under the punishing Arizona sun.
Damn risky.
Fucking hot.
He moved his hand from behind my head and cupped it over my mouth while the other slid the fabric of my panties to the side. I hissed when his tongue dipped into my folds.
“Shhhhh,” he whispered.
I have a tendency of being pretty darned loud during the act, so that was a tall order. I was bound to fail miserably at silent sex. Still, I tried to rein in my ruckus.
As he licked and sucked and ravaged my center, my hips ground down on his face, and my right leg rose all on its own over his shoulder, while the other braced against the glove compartment for stability. For the love of all things sexy I wanted to cry out and whimper and sound out my pleasure. That hand he clamped over my mouth was cramping my style, and at some point, I may have bit into his palm.
“Ouch,” he said in a throaty gurgle, not stopping his plundering.
“It was just a little nibble,” I tried to tell him, but as his hand gagged me, the incoherent mumble came out like ‘mrm rmm mmmr mrm mrmm mrmm’.
Kane moved his hand from my mouth long enough for me to say sorry, and then I took the opportunity to beg him to let me straddle him and ride his dick. I think he was glad he took the chance and let me speak, because the next thing I knew, he lifted his head and then I heard it. The unmistakable and irresistibly sexy rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrip sound of lace fabric being tugged beyond its tensile strength until it was torn to shreds. I managed to tilt my head up slightly just in time to see him throw the pieces of lace out of his hand. I would have told him he was paying to replace it, but I was too excited about what he was about to let me do to bother. That, added to watching him unzip his pants and free his raging hard-on.
He slid both hands down the sides of my legs and wrapped them around his waist. “Sit up and hold on to me,” he told me.
I did. He held me tight to his chest and stepped back, then turned so his back was leaning against the side of the vehicle. I wasn’t too sure how this was going to work, but heck, I was open to figuring it out with him.
Kane deserved props. He had to be some kind of condom illusionist. A virtual Criss Angel for protective sex, he could make one appear out of nowhere just before getting inside a woman. He already rode a Harley and wore a cut, so all he was missing was the smoky eye makeup, rocker jewelry and long, dark hair.
Just like the name of the Vegas show, I believed.
He held my back with one hand, and with no kind of effort, ripped open one of those lubricated bad boys and put it on.
“Ready?” he asked.
We were “Yes.”
With my skirt pretty much all the way up to my waist now, he gripped my hips, positioned me over his manhood, and growled, “Go ahead. Ride.”
Hallelujah.
I lowered onto him, out of my mind with the feel of his hot breath against my neck as he entered me.
“Fuck,” I moaned.
“Keep your voice down,” he reminded me, and I stuffed a fist into my mouth to at least try.
I began to roll my hips to feel him deeper. He helped me along too, digging his fingernails into my waist as his strong hands lifted me off his member and pulled me back down on it. Then up again. I was writhing against him, close to the brink with the way his cock slammed deep into my core at this new angle. With no warning, all that energy sparking between us expanded until my core, mind and rest of my body all vibrated and resonated at the same frequency, catapulting me into one hell of an orgasm.
In my weakened state, Kane took over. He carried me back to my side of the Jeep and held a protective hand over the top of my head to lower my head, back and waist inside. Without breaking our contact, he thrust in and out of me, speeding up until he too lost all control and came.
Neither of us spoke or moved for some time. I let him linger with the side of his head now resting against my cleavage. That was probably not a good idea if I wanted to have a clean break after this biker gang fiasco was over, but just this once, I went with it.
Surprise, surprise. Mr. Biker President was an obvious fan of a good snuggle.
A bit more time passed and Kane got up without my prompting. He pulled out of me, made that used condom disappear in the bushes beside the car, and pulled his pants back up.
“Let’s fill up the tank and get some food supplies before we hunker down.”
What a way to get back to the real world after mind-blowing sex.
Chapter Eleven
Kim
Kane got in the driver seat and started the car. We headed back to the main road again for gas and after a few miles of driving, pulled into what had to be one of the most Podunk looking gas stations in America. Two ancient pumps sat in front of a wooden building that even had chinking putty between the horizontal boards. An immense American flag that was probably made for a towering state department skyscraper swung over the front door, just in case anyone forgot which country they were in.
When the Jeep stopped I kicked the door open and hopped out. “I’ll be in the restroom, then I’ll check out what they have in the way of food and supplies.”
He nodded and pulled his wallet out. “Good. Pick up a few days’ worth of non-perishables. I’m not sure how stocked up it’ll be where we’re going.”
“No problem.” I turned quickly around and headed inside without taking his money.
“Here’s the list and some cash,” he called after
me.
“I can manage,” I said, and kept walking. I’d been out on backpack-only camping trips. I had a good idea of how to prepare for hunkering down. I needed a flashlight with extra batteries, lighters or fire starters, a half-decent first aid kit, a sewing kit, tie wraps or bungee cords, water, canned or dried foods, a can opener, basic eating utensils, and personal hygiene items, some of which I already had in my backpack.
The store didn’t have much, but there were a few small kerosene lamps, matches, flashlights, a tiny smartphone-sized first aid kit, matches and cans of food with pop lids. It would have to do. Also, I could mentally cross out the need for a can opener.
My arms nearly full, I headed for the front of the store to check out. I placed the arm-full of supplies on the counter and the grizzled looking guy working the counter got busy at the cash register.
“Do you have a bathroom?” I asked after he rang up the things and took my cash.
Without lifting his eyes to look at me, he nodded toward a side door. He pushed my paper bags at me and set the change in my hand.
“Thanks,” I muttered. “I’ll be back for these in a minute.”
The back of the structure was cluttered with piles of old tires that had to be navigated like a maze in order to get to the white door around the side, emblazoned with a picture of a toilet. On a second thought, I stopped. Peeing behind a tree was better than facing whatever was behind that dirty door. Stepping gingerly across the trash-strewn ground, I set my sights on the line of trees not far away.
I was still half devoured by the tires when I noticed some shadows approaching the side of the building. There were five of them altogether, and my gut told me to duck down behind the closest pile of old tires. I saw their faces when they cleared the building. None were familiar. They split up, and two of them walked toward where I was hiding.
“Get up, Blondie,” one of them said, presumably to me as they both were Hispanic with dark hair.
He reached a hand out and a chill went through my body as his sticky fingers wrapped around my forearm. I stood up slowly, and the man was rough when he pulled me to his side.
“Let her go and we can all walk out of here in one piece,” Kane’s voice boomed from behind them. I slowly turned around. He had a gun drawn in each hand, one pointing to each of their heads. The two men froze, as did I. Kane nodded at me. “Come over here, Kim.”
I started moving but the guy holding on to my arm didn’t let go.
“She’s coming with us,” he told Kane.
Kane answered, “The hell she is.”
“We’ll see what my three other friends have to say,” the guy answered confidently.
“Oh, you mean the three knuckleheads who went inside to look for me? Your friends are, what should I call it? Let’s just say unconscious people aren’t good as backup.”
“You’re a dead man,” the man’s friend growled.
That was when their sixth friend stepped out the back door with a sawed-off shotgun trained on the back of Kane’s head.
To Be Continued…
Continues in ‘DOG Part Two’.
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Bad Boy Biker 1
Alpha Bad Boy Romance
Part 1 of 2
By
Bella Wild
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Bad Boy Biker 1
First edition. January 2016.
Copyright © Bella Wild.
Written by Bella Wild.
All Rights Reserved.
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Prologue
Phoenix, Arizona. 2006
Nineteen-year-old Jace Roma stood before an Arizona State judge. His age meant nothing to them. They still slapped shackles on his ankles and wrists as though he was a cold-blooded killer. So much for innocent until proven guilty. He couldn’t even be too upset about that part. The truth was he actually was innocent. The only reason he found himself in this position, ready to give up a good portion of his life, was because of one thing—loyalty.
They could call him whatever they wanted. He was doing this to help a brother, and fuck anyone who tried to talk him out of it. He stood there, awaiting his sentence, because his court-appointed defense attorney failed him. All the idiot had to do was demonstrate reasonable doubt, that Jace didn’t have malicious intent when a man died as a result of a bar-room fight. The attorney had failed him. The jury didn’t help either. They took one look at his demeanor and tattoos, and decided he was guilty when they saw him—a mean-looking biker gang member. He was fucked the second he walked into the room the first day of the trial.
Now, as he stood before the judge to learn his fate, Jace knew he was being judged for more than his actions on the night in question. The judge would make an example of him. He could see it in the man’s eyes as he stared at him, looked down at him in every sense of the word from his smug, self-righteous throne at the front of that courtroom. To that judge, Jace was some punk biker kid standing before him in rebellion and defiance. The judge stared at his tattoos and facial hair. The look on Jace’s face didn’t help. He was always hearing he had a face that looked like he was daring someone to start with him.
He waited for the judge to finally say something, and took the time to reflect on what actually happened that night, not the version that came out in court. Which was partly his doing too, given he had never even touched the man who died.
The night that turned into a living hell.
Yes, that’s what he should have called it. Jace and few of his brothers from The Raging Danger MC had taken their president, Roger ‘Ragged’ Williams, to a local bar. It was a night for celebrating. Ragged’s old lady had just delivered twin boys, and his MC brothers were only too willing to stand with him and commemorate the event by doing what they did best—drinking and raising a little bit of hell.
All the members saw how focused Ragged had become on his old lady in the months before the twins were born. Now that they were healthy and safe, it was time to let the other old ladies in the MC help out so the brothers could reconnect the way they always did.
The night started out like almost any other night out drinking. The guys parked their Harleys out front, and went in through the back like they always did. They grabbed a few rounds for Ragged, and Jace sat back with a pint, mainly to keep an eye on the crowd. Jace’s job tonight was to keep his head on straight and make sure everyone else did, too. There were always people looking to test a biker’s patience. Jace was usually the one to convince them—or his brothers—to back down and save it for another day.
He didn’t even see the fight brewing that night. He wasn’t sure how it started, but out of nowhere Ragged broke a beer bottle over a man’s head. Jace and the other brothers managed to get them outside. This was their regular bar, so they were not about to start breaking shit just for the sake of it. Ragged took the man down hard on the concrete sidewalk out back. By the time the brothers pulled Ragged up off the sidewalk, the other man was stock still.
Jace was the one who noticed the man wasn’t breathing. One of the boys dropped down beside the man to check for a pulse. He looked up at them and shook his head.
Jace looked over at Ragged. This couldn’t be happening, but it was. He had to do something fast. When it came to him, he turned to the other brothers, “Get him out of here. I’ll handle it.”
Ragged wasn’t having it, but in under a minute they heard police sirens.
Jace reminded him of his newborn twins. “They need
you. Your old lady would kill us all if we let you go down for something like this. Let me handle this.”
Ragged was still adamant, but the other members agreed and finally got him the hell out of there. The police found Jace standing over the other man’s lifeless body when they arrived. Jace kept his mouth shut, and the cops did what they do best. They took one look at Jace and assumed he had done it. He kept his mouth shut when they shoved him into the back of their squad car, questioned him, charged him, and even after they put him in a room with his court-appointed lawyer. He let the system do the heavy lifting, and because he didn’t talk, that system sucked him in and spit him out the other side as a guilty man.
Better Jace than Ragged.
Looking at this judge, he was certain now that the punishment would be harsh. The courts enjoyed making an example out of men who looked like him.
The fat old judge leaned forward and finally spoke. After the usual preamble to introduce the case, prosecutor, defense attorney and other details, the judge went on to speak directly with Jace.
“Jace Roma, before I announce your sentence, have you anything to share with the court?” the judge asked him.
“Your Honor. All I can say is it was an accident, and I am deeply sorry to the man’s family.”
The judge sat back in his chair and looked at Jace, appearing to consider Jace’s words for a moment. “My courtroom is a part of a sentencing system. Every case is difference, and every guilty party likes to think this system should go easy on him or her. If I were to try and tailor my sentence to fit every conceivable wrinkle, fact or circumstance of each case, my sentencing procedure would soon become unworkable. My goal is to never compromise the certainty of exacting a punishment, and especially for you, Jace Roma, I want to ensure this sentence is seen as a deterrent. Anyone thinking they can pick a fight at a licensed establishment, a fight that ends up killing another human being, will not be excused by this court, especially if the accused is uncooperative throughout the proceedings.”