Big Bad Fake Groom: A Billionaire's Virgin Romance
Page 19
5
Finally, almost three weeks after she had been raped on the bar floor, Jennifer returned to Chuck’s. Brittany was behind the bar when she got there, and Andre was in the kitchen. He hugged her when he saw her.
“If I would have been here,” he started, but Jennifer smiled and shook her head.
“I know,” she said. “How’s the baby?”
Andre grinned. His wife had given birth less than two weeks before. “Fit as a fiddle,” he said. “You got to come by and see him, all right?”
“I will,” Jennifer said, and she went out behind the bar. Brittany gave her a hug too, but the younger woman didn’t know what to say, so she stayed quiet. Rose was at the bar, and she slid a shot across to Jennifer.
“On me, kiddo,” she said, and Jennifer took it, slamming the empty glass down on the bar when she was done. Her throat burned, but she started to laugh.
That night Rocky came in with a couple of his biker club pals. He paid Jennifer no mind, and she thought it would stay that way, but just after midnight he approached the bar and leaned against it.
“Can I talk to you?” he said.
“I’m a little busy.”
“No you ain’t. Come talk to me,” he said, and he reached for her hand.
“Out back,” she said with a sigh, not taking his hand, and then she disappeared into the kitchen, heading for the back door. Rocky went out the front and walked around the building.
“What?” Jennifer asked when she saw him. She was leaning against the wall next to the back door.
“I wanted to say sorry,” the biker said. “I was being an asshole.”
“You think?”
“I’m trying to apologize,” Rocky said, and she softened.
“All right,” Jennifer said. “I do appreciate what you did for me.”
“I would do anything for you,” Rocky said, and then he laughed. “Good lord, I sound like that dork you’re dating.”
Jennifer laughed and shook her head. “I broke up with him a couple of days ago.”
“How come?”
Jennifer paused for a moment, and then she shrugged. “He wasn’t you.”
Rocky tilted his head to the side and raised a brow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m an all right guy, you know,” he said. Jennifer laughed.
“No, you aren’t. How many times have you gone to prison?”
“I’m an all right guy for having gone to prison a couple of times.”
“You ever killed a man?”
“No,” Rocky said. “But the night’s young. I will kill that asshole when I find him. He might be long gone, though; they were heading out when I found him the first time.”
“Good riddance,” Jennifer said. “Let him go.”
“What if he comes back?”
“You better be there to protect me,” she said with a grin. Rocky stepped forward and they kissed.
He hung around Chuck’s that night and then followed her home on his bike. She asked Barb to keep Jaxson overnight, and then they went into the bedroom.
“Be gentle,” Jennifer said, as Rocky pulled his shirt over his head. “Can you?”
“Of course I can,” Rocky said, and then they were kissing again. He broke the kiss long enough to pull her shirt up and over her head, and then he was touching her back, his fingers moving up and down her spine, making her skin tingle. His touch was light and soft though his hands were that of a man’s, hard and calloused. She put her hands on his chest, felt his firm muscles there, and a warmth flowed through her crotch, soaking her panties.
Their kisses were tender and slow; their tongues danced together. Slowly they lay upon the bed, Rocky holding himself over her. She reached down, pulled off his belt, and unzipped his pants. He wriggled out of them, clad then in just his boxer shorts. Her fingers found their way through the flap at the front and wrapped around his member, half hard then, but growing rigid against her palm and fingers.
He tasted of beer and cigarettes, and Jennifer knew she was with the right man.
He got her bra off, and his eager lips found her nipples, but she could tell he was taking it slow, being gentle, and it meant so much to her. She smiled with her eyes closed and moaned in his ear. “Fuck me hard,” she said.
“Thank god,” Rocky said. He ripped her panties down her legs, tossing them over the edge of the bed. His kisses on her breasts became bites, piercing nibbles on and around her nipples that soaked her pussy even more. He had a hand down there, two of his fingers working in and out of her, the pad of his thumb grinding gently against her clit.
“Fuck me,” she moaned, and he did so. He pushed inside her, working at a furious pace, their skin slapping together, her juices flowing. Her breathing grew labored, and he knew she was about to come, so Rocky leaned back, still fucking her but reaching down and rubbing her clit.
“Shit!” Jennifer yelled as an orgasm rocked her, his massive cock thudding in and out of her tight pussy as it contracted around him. When she had come, he pulled out of her, standing and bending over to pick her up. He tossed her over his shoulder, her juices leaking from her snatch and running down her legs and onto his arms. They went to the living room like that, and he sat down in a chair next to the TV and he pulled her into his lap, facing away from him.
Jennifer braced herself with her hands on the arms of the chair and her feet on the carpet, her legs together as she sat on his cock. It pushed into her tight snatch, and she brought herself back up and then slammed down, riding him at a furious pace. He reached up and pulled her hair, yanking her head back until she screamed. His other hand slapped her ass, big and round and bouncing on his lap.
“Fuck me,” she screamed, over and over until he pushed her off him and then down to her knees. He stepped in front of her, and she opened her mouth so he could fuck her face. He held her head still, letting his hips control the pace. She was choking; her eyes burned as tears slid down her cheeks.
“Jerk me off onto your face,” he commanded, and Jennifer was being used once more. But the fact that he had been willing to be gentle, to go slow, it meant she was fine with it. She wanted him to use her for that; a woman should be used in the bedroom, at least sometimes. And sometimes a man should be used. Rocky was a man who was willing to go both ways. One wasn’t better than the other. She gripped him in her hand and jerked him until he came, his thick white come sloshing across her lips, her face, and up into her hair. When he was done, she smiled. She knew it was the beginning of a wonderful relationship.
*****
THE END
MOTORCYCLE CLUB Romance – Bad Boy Biker’s Baby
1
Sherry Loveland hated her new job, but at least it was paying the bills. And it was a good starting point, with a lot of opportunities to move up within the company. She lived in Texas, near the border, in a small town called Happy. Happy, Texas, was anything but, with dusty roads and small squat homes and shops along Main Street.
Sherry had always been good with numbers, and she had found a job as an accountant for a small company that sold plastic to larger companies who then molded the plastic into something. Water bottles mostly. It was boring work in a boring building with boring people. But, maybe, boring was exactly what Sherry needed.
Growing up most of her friends had called her Love, a play on her name and the fact that she burned through men the way other people burned through underwear. Sherry was short with round hips and big breasts, and she had long blond hair that men loved to take hold of while they were in bed.
Sherry had grown up in Oklahoma, and it was right after high school that she met Randy, a tall, athletic man a few years older who played minor league baseball. He had swept her off her feet and then revealed his true colors. He was, to put it quite frankly, the way Sherry had said to her best friend, Sue, an asshole. The relationship had lasted two years; the whole time Sherry had been telling herself to leave. Finally, she did. And when she did something, she did it right
. She didn’t just leave Randy; she left Oklahoma.
And she ended up in Happy and got her boring job. She had been there a little over three months, and the only thing in Happy, Texas, that she found made her happy was Earl’s, a shady biker bar on the outskirts of town. It was filled with rough men, loose women, and a blaring jukebox that hadn’t been updated since the eighties. It was exactly the kind of place Sherry had always loved.
It was Friday night when Sherry met him, the man who would change her life. She left work and headed straight for Earl’s. She had worked late, trying to win favor from her boss, an old man named Michael who was stingy with money. She could use a raise; the small apartment she rented near the center of town had a bug problem and an obnoxious neighbor problem as well. There were a number of nice little homes in town, empty and waiting for her. On her salary, though, she couldn’t afford one.
One step at a time; that was what Sherry kept telling herself. She was young still, just twenty-one, and she had just left a horrible man who didn’t deserve her. She had left everything behind in Oklahoma—her friends, her family, the stupid nickname. She wasn’t Love anymore; she was herself. Sherry. She just needed her job, and Earl’s, and she would make it.
Earl’s was a wooden building that seemed as though it might fall over in a stiff breeze. The parking lot was gravel, and there were always a few cars in it, and a long line of Harley’s at the entrance. Sherry pulled into a spot near the door and headed for the bar.
She was a bit overdressed, she knew; most of the women in the bar would be dressed like the men: blue jeans, T-shirts, leather vests. Biker chicks. Sherry was attracted to bad boys, but she would never call herself a biker chick. She was dressed for work, with a short skirt and heels and a tight-fitting blouse. She knew her boss, Michael, had hired her for her big tits more than her way with numbers, though her way with numbers was just as impressive as her bust, so she played up her good looks in hopes that the man would want to keep her around. Sherry was smart, and she had no problem playing to any strengths she had, including the looks she had been blessed with.
She had worked late enough that, as she stepped into the bar, the sky outside was rather dark, the sun just a bright line on the western horizon. Heads turned as she made for the bar, sitting on a stool there and folding one hosed leg over the other.
She had come to recognize some of the faces, older men and women who came every day, or at least every Friday and Saturday like Sherry.
But there was a new group now, in the corner, seven or so men and a few women. One man seemed to be holding court, sitting at the head of the long table and downing beer from a massive glass stein. He was relatively young. Sherry wouldn’t put him past thirty, while a lot of the men in Earl’s had thick gray beards that put them near fifty or even sixty. This man was clean shaven, or at least for a biker, which he clearly was; stubble grew on his chin and upper lip, dark like his hair. He wore a black vest with nothing underneath, and as Sherry sipped at a beer and watched him, he turned, and she saw a coiled snake sitting atop a skull on the back of his vest. Other men at the table wore the same symbol, as well as one of the women, a thick girl with red hair.
The man saw Sherry and kept glancing in her direction, and Sherry was sure he was going to come up to her. But before he ever could, the night wore on and a fight broke out.
There had been scuffles at Earl’s almost every night Sherry had been there, but this one was something more. A man in a vest with a different insignia came up to speak with the young man with the stubble. Their voices grew louder, and then fists were flying. Other men came to join them, and then the whole place was nothing but yelling and fighting and punching.
A switchblade came out and one man was stabbed. He fell back on wild feet, knocking into the bar, shaking it so violently that Sherry had to reach forward and steady her beer. Earl himself was behind the bar most nights, and he was a big man with a beard that fell almost to his belly button.
“Enough!” he roared. “No stabbing in here, you idiots.”
The fight stopped for a moment, and then one man yelled for everyone to go outside, and they did. Sherry had always been drawn to excitement, so she followed the brawl outside and stood near the front door with the other women. Almost every man in the bar had chosen a side and was fighting, and Sherry saw that even the man who had been stabbed was fighting once more, a hand clamped determinedly over his bleeding gut. The bikers were all careful to keep away from the row of motorcycles; that much was plain. But they paid no such respect to the cars in the parking lot. And as Sherry watched on in horror, the handsome man with the chin stubble lifted a fat guy into the air and slammed him onto her car. Her car. The windshield shattered.
Without thought, Sherry marched into the midst of the fighting and tapped the man with the stubble on the shoulder. He spun around, his fist raised as if to strike her. But when he saw it was a woman, he put his hand down.
“What do you want?” he snarled. “I’m busy here.”
Sherry saw that his name was sewn onto the lapel of his leather vest, or at least a nickname: Colt.
“That’s my damned car!” Sherry shouted. She had been with an abusive man for too long to be afraid of Colt.
“Get out of here. You’re going to get hurt,” Colt said, and he took her by the arm and led her back to the entrance of Earl’s.
“What about my car?”
“Why don’t you go order us a couple of beers, sweet thing, and when I’m done kicking ass out here, we can talk it over.”
And with that, he turned and dove back into the ruckus. Sherry fumed, but she did as the man had asked. She went in and claimed a small table after ordering two beers, and twenty minutes later the cops had been called, the fight had broken up, and a few men had been carted off to jail. Colt wasn’t one of them—even though the fight had started with him and the other man—and he came in and sat across from Sherry. She waited for him to speak, but first he took his beer and downed the whole thing.
“You only got me one?” he asked, smiling across the table.
“You broke my windshield. I can’t drive like that. I can’t afford to fix it.”
“Well shit, if it’s all just money,” Colt said, and he pulled out a thick wallet and tossed a couple of hundred dollar bills in front of her. “That should cover it. And I can give you a ride tonight.”
Sherry didn’t know what to say. Colt grinned and held out his hand. “I’m Colt,” he said. Sherry shook it.
“That’s a stupid name,” she said, and Colt laughed.
“It’s not my real name. It’s like the gun. Big, powerful.”
“You aren’t that big,” Sherry said. She was annoyed by the man’s bravado, and she was even more annoyed that she felt a strong attraction to him.
Colt just laughed, but Sherry was pretty sure he flexed his muscles a bit as he did so. She couldn’t help but smile.
“You new here?” he asked her then. “I ain’t never seen you before.”
“Moved her a couple of months ago. I’ve been here every weekend. Where you been?”
“I like to ride,” he said, and he didn’t elaborate.
“That’s a fancy vest,” Sherry said.
Colt frowned as he looked at her, trying to decide if she was making fun of him or not. “You heard of the Vipers?”
“No. Is that your club?”
“Yeah. My daddy started it. I run it now.”
“I don’t know much about motorcycles,” Sherry said truthfully.
“Then why you hanging out in a biker bar?”
“Cheapest beer,” the she said with a grin, and Colt couldn’t help but return it.
“You want another one?” Colt asked as he stood, and in answer, Sherry slammed her head back and downed her beer.
They had a few more drinks. Time passed and soon it was after midnight. When Sherry and Colt stepped out of the bar, the sky was as black as pitch, except for the millions of stars shining among thick gray clouds.
The handsome, muscular man backed the bike out of its spot and then kicked the engine on. The thing roared like an animal, and they were off.
Sherry had never been on a motorcycle before, and she found the whole thing exciting and liberating. Colt was practiced and the ride was smooth, but he twisted the handlebars back far and they flew down the empty streets. She had told him where she lived before they had started riding, and she realized he had asked her then because everything was so damn loud that he never would have heard her while they were riding, even if she yelled in his year.
Her arms were around his waist, and she was worried for a moment that she was holding on too tight, but she didn’t dare lessen her grip. Her long hair, which stuck out from under the helmet, whipped in every direction in the wind, and the ten-minute drive back home became a five-minute one on the back of Colt’s bike. He pulled up in front of the two-story apartment building, one foot on the curb as he cut the engine. Sherry climbed off the bike and handed Colt her helmet. He put it behind him, using a strap or two to keep it in place.
“You going to invite me in?” he asked, grinning. She noticed his teeth were as perfect as any she had seen before, white and straight. Holding on to him had been intoxicating, even more so than the beers she had drunk. He smelled like a man should: He was clean, a hint of soap, but there had been stale sweat, beer, and cigarette smoke mixed into his musk as well. The bike had been roaring and vibrating, and Sherry had enjoyed the sensation between her legs. She very much wanted to invite Colt in, but she knew she shouldn't. She had left Oklahoma to get away from a man; she didn’t need to come to Happy, Texas, and find another one so quickly.
“Invite you in? For coffee?” she asked, a playful smirk spreading across her plump lips.