Sold to the Biker: A Dark MC Romance

by Bella Rose

  Epilogue

  Six months later…

  The little one bedroom stone cottage was cozy inside. A crackling fire lit up the small living room. The dinner dishes were washed and put away, and the day’s work was through. Rocko had been right. It wasn’t the lap of luxury, but in many ways it was a lot better than Lena had ever imagined for herself.

  Rocko leaned back into the soft cushions of the loveseat. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that when you walked into my father’s bike shop to collect the rent, I never would have imagined you as the maintenance guy for a resort on Lake Tahoe.”

  “I’m not,” he teased. “Lawrence Middleton is the maintenance man. Rocko Trapp is still a wanted criminal.”

  “You don’t know that. I can’t imagine how any prosecutor would get an indictment when you were only eight years old.”

  “All the same, I have no desire to go back and find out.” He gently threaded his fingers through her hair. “I have everything I need right here.”

  “Me too.” She yawned.

  She curled up against the man she called husband. She was wearing one of his T-shirts and her legs were bare. Rocko was as relaxed as she’d ever seen him in flannel pajama pants. Feeling just a little sassy and a whole lot horny, Lena threw her leg over Rocko’s lap and settled herself astride.

  “What’s this now?”

  She could see from the flare of heat in his eyes that the question was rhetorical at best.

  An ache began to build between her legs. She loved having sex with this man. Being with him was always incredible. Even since their marriage he had been continuing to pull out when he ejaculated, but Lena knew in her heart that the time was coming when he would trust her and the future they were building together.

  “Lena,” he growled. Pushing his fingers into her loose hair, he pulled her down for a kiss. “I want you,” he murmured against her lips. “Please?”

  “Oh?” She pulled back, teasing him. “You want me?”

  “Yes!”

  She wiggled a little. Her wet pussy dampened the soft flannel covering the hard ridge of his erection. The feeling excited her. She loved having power over this man. It was intoxicating every damn time. Then she felt his hardness skate along the swollen hood of her clit, and it was no longer a game.

  “That’s it,” he encouraged. “Ride me, baby. Make yourself come.”

  She settled her hands on his bare shoulders. Scoring his skin with her nails, she held tight as she ground her body against his. She was so hot so quick! The first tremors of orgasm snuck through her body. Then the climax roared to life, and she was gasping for breath. She shut her eyes and cried out as the undulating waves of release left her even more desperate to feel Rocko’s hard length inside her.

  He lifted himself beneath her. Both of them struggled to get his pajama pants out of the way. Her hands found the hard length of him, and she began to pump his cock as he kicked off the pants. There was a bead of silky fluid at the tip of his head. She slid her fingers through the slick stuff and spread it around and around the tip of his cock. His rough sounds of arousal turned her on even more. She loved this beast of a man who was so very different with her than he was with anyone else.

  Lena raised herself more firmly on her knees. She reached between them and gripped the shaft of his cock. Fitting the head of him to her pussy, she lowered herself slowly. Each and every inch was agonizing pleasure. She gazed into his face and saw a reflection of her own feelings there.

  Rocko grabbed her hips and thrust up to meet her. The joining was fierce and desperate. Lena rocked against him, rolling her hips and grinding her pussy down on his cock. Each tiny piece of friction made her moan in ecstasy. She loved being on top. The sense of Rocko allowing her to take the reins and be in control was so very exciting.

  “That’s it,” he murmured. “God, you’re so fucking hot! I always knew you’d be like this. I knew we’d be good together.”

  She cupped his face and kissed him full on the lips. Pushing her tongue into his mouth, she staked her claim as though he were her property. Their tongues tangled together, teeth clicking as they desperately devoured each other.

  Lena pulled away from the kiss and gently nipped his earlobe. “I want you to come inside me, Rocko. I want to be yours. I need to know this is really forever.”

  Her words threw him into a frenzy. He wrapped his arms around her waist and slammed his cock deep into her pussy. The sound and scent of sex filled the room. The fire was warm on her back, Rocko was hotter against her front. Then her pussy seized and she came hard. Her inner muscles clenched tight around his shaft, and in seconds she was flying high with the powerful orgasm that overtook her body.

  ***

  In that moment Rocko could not even say what usually still kept him from coming inside his lover’s body. He loved this woman more than life. The way she felt as she melted into orgasm on his cock was exquisite. His balls drew up tight beneath his body, and he wanted so badly to give her what she asked for.

  Then Lena gently touched his cheek. She opened her eyes and gazed at him with such love and trust. It rocked him to the core.

  Rocko let go.

  He felt the blood rushing through his body. His cock grew harder. He pushed deeper into Lena’s body. And when he finally spilled his seed, he convulsed with the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of the moment.

  She cried out and ground down upon him. He met her with his own thrust, pushing hard into her body as he gave her everything he had. The warm feeling of satisfaction left him limp and unable to even move. He could only wrap his arms around Lena as she collapsed against his chest.

  It felt differently than he had thought it would. Rocko had always assumed that when he finally broke his rule and came inside a lover, he would feel guilt or some kind of self-loathing. But there was none of that. Lena was a warm weight against him, and he could focus on nothing past the strong love he had for her.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “So very much, Lena. You know that, right?”

  “Of course.” She nuzzled his chest. “I love you too. I love being with you. I love just hanging out with you. I love coming home to you every night. And if we make a baby, I will love raising a family with you, too.”

  “I know you will.” And he did. There was no more of this consuming fear of bringing a child into the world.

  “We don’t have to be our parents,” she told him quietly. “I hope you know that. We can choose to do things our own way. We can be our own people.”

  “And we’re going to love our kids and protect them,” he told her. “I think I’ve always known that.”

  “It can’t be easy when we’ve never had much of an example,” she mused.

  Her fingers were idly stroking his belly. He loved it when she touched him like this. She was the only one who ever had. He gently gathered her hair into one long mass and threaded his fingers through the silky stuff. This was the first time he had ever entertained the notion of what it might be like to have a child, a child with beautiful cinnamon-colored hair and bright green eyes. That was what he wanted.

  “I think I want a boy.” She sounded thoughtful, as though she was giving it the same sort of thought that he was. “Don’t you think that would be fun?”

  “A boy,” he murmured. “Followed by a girl. And maybe a few more.”

  She laughed, sitting up and swatting his shoulder. “You’ve gone from no kids at all to a whole pack of them!”

  “With you anything is possible.” He really meant that. Gently cupping her face, he drew her down for a light kiss. “Let’s go to bed. Maybe we can work on those babies.”

  “Practice does in fact make perfect,” she teased.

  If that was the case, then the two of them were never getting out of bed again.

  Rocko smiled at the thought. Yes. Life had turned out quite grand.

  THE END

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  Chapter One

  Anya

  I grasped the tree branch and tried not to look down. My stomach had tied itself into tiny little knots, and my brain kept telling me that this was by far my stupidest idea in a good many years. I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I was a grown woman with a job and a car payment. I should not have been sneaking out of my house in what amounted to the middle of the night. But sometimes, extreme circumstances call for extreme behavior. And this situation absolutely qualified as one of those times.

  My hand began to slip. I sucked in a quick breath and tried to readjust my grip. Tightening my belly muscles, I swung my legs until I managed to just barely hook my boot over the branch. Now I was hanging roughly twenty feet in the air over what only looked like soft grass. I wasn’t stupid. If I fell from this height, that grass was going to feel like the blacktop of a basketball court on the school playground.

  “I will not fall. I will not fall,” I chanted.

  I’m a big believer in the power of positive thinking and all that. But this was getting out of hand. I managed to get my other foot hooked over the branch, but I wasn’t ever sure what I was doing after that. I’d climbed out my window and jumped into the tree thinking that I would just scale my way down the branches to the ground. Unfortunately, the branches were way farther apart than they seemed.

  Okay. This was ridiculous. I braced my legs around the branch and readjusted the grip of my hands. The bark was scratchy on my skin, and I knew I was going to have scraped palms in the morning. I needed to let go with my legs and hang. Then I had to try and drop to the next branch down.

  I let my legs down slowly. I didn’t want to gather momentum like some insane tree gymnast. I just needed to let go. Yep. I needed to let go with my hands. So I squeezed my eyes shut and just did it. I felt my feet touch the branch, and for the span of maybe six seconds I balanced precariously a little more than ten feet off the ground.

  Then I heard a cracking noise. My eyes flew open, and I wrenched my neck around trying to see the end of the branch near the thick trunk of the old tree. Was it cracking off? If that was the case, I was toast!

  Another shattering noise and then the creaking of wood splitting rent the air. One second my feet rested on something solid, the next I was falling. I tried my best to curl up as I hit the ground but still wound up flat on my back gasping for breath. I’d had the wind knocked out of me. But I was still alive. That was what mattered, right? I was alive and now I was free. Just as soon as I could breathe of course.

  Just when I could hear something other than the thundering of the blood pumping through my veins, I caught sight of a dark shadow standing about ten feet away. The shadow peeled away from the trees and brush and walked toward me. It was laughing. Of course it was. When did Antonin ever not laugh at my expense?

  “Hello, Anastasia,” he said in a voice full of mockery. “Now that you’ve taken the liberty of leaving your room, perhaps you’d like to meet with your father in his study?”

  “Not really,” I blustered. “I think I’d rather just go about my business actually.”

  “As if that is an option at this point,” Antonin said darkly. “You have nobody but yourself to blame for this, you know?”

  I didn’t respond. There was no point in responding to the arrogant ass. So I got up and dusted myself off instead. If I was getting dragged onto the carpet in front of my father, I’d do it with as much dignity as I could muster.

  Antonin poked me in the back. It was too dark to see the details of his expression, but I knew he must be smirking. I could see the white flash of his teeth in the bare light of the house’s outdoor flood lamps.

  Through the yard, into the house, past Antonin’s lackeys standing guard in the hallway, and up the stairs to my father’s study we went. Antonin was behind me every step of the way, and I resented him probably more than I did my overbearing father.

  “I found her,” Antonin said simply as we walked into my father’s office.

  My father—Boris Romanov—the Pekhan or boss of our city’s Russian mafiya. It wasn’t my proudest association. I would have rather had a normal family with some kind of normal origin story. I didn’t want to think about Imperial Russia, Tsars, Bolsheviks, and the post-World War II upheaval that had landed my family here in the United States. I was a middle school history teacher. I got it. Most of it anyway. What I couldn’t understand was why my father was determined to be the godfather of the Russian mafiya.

  “You cannot keep me here like some prisoner,” I told my father. “And having this moron following me about isn’t an option either.” I cast a dark look over my shoulder at Antonin. The ass was lounging against a cabinet in my father’s study as if he owned the place.

  My father sighed and sank into his office chair. “My dear girl, I am only trying to keep you safe. Surely you realize that things are rather tense here in the city. We are at war with the Orlovs. They would stop at nothing to get the upper hand in our negotiations. Taking you prisoner or hurting you in some way would immediately guarantee my cooperation. Surely you don’t want to put me in such a position?”

  “Put you in such a position?” I crowed angrily. “Are you kidding me? This is my life, and I have to live it in your stupid ivory tower just because you’re a criminal who surrounds himself with other criminals!”

  “Fine.” Boris waved his hand. “Then go. Go back to your tiny house downtown that could not protect you from the evil men who stand on every street corner.”

  “Pekhan,” Antonin protested. “Surely you should assign her a protector. I’ll do it. It would be an honor.”

  “I’d rather die,” I spat the words at Antonin. “And I’m not even sure you wouldn’t kill me yourself just for the fun of it.”

  My father chuckled. The sound only made me angrier. How could he see humor in what was happening right now? Then he sighed. “No, Antonin. Anya is right. She is a grown woman capable of making her own choices.”

  I turned slowly, almost certain that he would change his mind. But he didn’t. I got all the way outside and into my car before I allowed myself to feel the overwhelming elation of freedom.

  Vasily

  It was too late, and I was too tired to deal with this shit. But when the Pekhan of the city’s rossiyskaya mafiya requests an audience, the only appropriate answer is yes. After all, I value my hide above most anything else. And old Boris had been like a father to me when I was just getting started.

  The wind was cold in my face. It tugged at my hair and froze my fingers to the handlebars of my bike. I didn’t care. It was a minor thing compared to the rest. Perhaps I even saw little pieces of discomfort as proof that I was still alive and the other guy was dead.

  I steered my bike up the long winding driveway. The house was lit like Christmas. Vory v Zakone littered the place like toy soldiers left out after the child has gone to bed. Nobody ever said old Boris didn’t take his security seriously.

  I hid a smile as I stopped my bike and used the heel of my boot to put the kickstand in place. As if any of these men could stop me if I wanted Boris dead. A quick glance around showed me at least two points of entry. I imagined skulking up behind a guard and wrapping my arm around his neck. I’d hold him still and slice his throat to keep him quiet. Then I’d enter the house and finish off whatever target had been assigned to me. That was what I did. It had been my function within the Bratva since I’d been ma
de Vor.

  I sat and waited. It didn’t take long for Antonin to arrive at the top of the steps. He swung his arms wide in greeting. “Vasily! What kept you?”

  “Business,” I replied. That was plenty explanation where my work was concerned.

  “Ah!” Antonin’s tone grew speculative. “I see you look plenty healthy. That is good.”

  We were speaking in Russian as we almost always did. English was good to communicate with anyone not of the Bratva. It was useless within the organization. Half the low-ranking Shestyorkas did not even speak English. They were usually young and fresh from Russia. The ones who did had been raised here in the US as the offspring of current mafiya members.

  I swung my leg over my bike, stood, and stretched. Then I pointed at Antonin. “That will teach you to bet against Vasily, eh?”

  He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and we tousled like children. It had always been this way between us. Shoving and tripping our way up the steps and into the house, we garnered looks of amusement from the other guards. Most remained quiet. These were Boris’s personal guards. Being assigned to the Pekhan was no small matter. I nodded to them and they nodded back. Perhaps we were equal. Perhaps not. In a dark alley I had no doubt that I would emerge the better man. It was what I did.

  “What does Boris want with me?” I asked Antonin once we were inside. “He wouldn’t say over the phone.”

  Antonin’s expression changed, but I couldn’t put my finger on the emotion I was seeing. Was he angry? Questioning the Pekhan was forbidden. I’d never known my friend to find fault with Boris. The man had been like a father to us since we had arrived in this country from Moscow as young boys.

  “Is that my Vasily I hear?” Boris’s blustering voice rumbled from the second floor of the expansive house. “Get your backside up here before I beat it black and blue like I did when you were a snot-nosed youngster!”