STICK: MC ROMANCE NOVELLA (Forsaken Riders MC Romance Book 8)

by Samantha Leal

  Aria thrashed and clamped around the man’s shaft so hard. Darryl watched his length pull out of her and the sight of her loss innocence drove him forward. She begged him to go harder and faster, knowing that there was a bigger orgasm on the horizon. Aria’s eyes closed as he sat back on his knees, her thighs being held together by his large, rough hands. He squeezed her thighs tightly together and rutted in and out of her.

  “One more time baby, please come one more time for me Aria. I love watching you come.”

  It was transfixing and the man could tell that the woman was primed for another one. His hand fell to the top of her slit and he pressed hard on her tiny nub. She squealed with the contact and gripped handfuls of his muscles as her insides collapsed around his thrusting shaft. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back, but when their eyes met, he was lost in her. He felt himself explode inside of her, shaking as much as her pussy walls were.

  Pulling out, he laid next to her on his back. Aria crawled over to his chest and laid her head over his steady beating heart. She mewled softly next to him, her leg hooked on top of his, holding him in a full body embraced. She felt like singing, her whole body throbbing with remembered pleasure.

  Chapter 8

  “So are we going to talk about what happened on the ice today?”

  Darryl looked down at her and held her close. He was still afraid that his words would scare her, but he knew that they must come out. Darryl knew that it was a lot to take, though he hoped she would have an open mind because one was desperately needed.

  “So you know what I am now.”

  “I am not sure. I thought I saw you turn into a bear, but that doesn’t make much sense.”

  “I am a lycanthrope, but instead of a wolf, my family turns into polar bears.”

  “Your family?”

  “Yea all those guys at work are my brothers.”

  “Oh. So did Martha know about your little secret?”

  “She did, but she knew that her family had their own secrets. I told you that our families are connected, I meant it. Your great aunt lived in the family house until a few years ago. It still does not feel the same without her there.”

  “Why did she move here?”

  “When Martha’s mate died, she no longer wanted to live in the big house. Her mate was my grandfather, so my father built her a small cottage down on the bottom of the mountain, so she was always close. It skips generations you see, so since Martha didn’t have any children, she must have known that you would be the one.”

  “So what does that mean? I am confused.”

  “Your blood ensures that my kind keeps going. You were mine before you were even born Aria, as I am yours. The birthmark on your chest marks you as the tattoo on my back marks me. I know this is hard to believe, but you will have our children and you probably already have some in your stomach.”

  He held her, cradling her flat stomach. Aria noted the word some and she wondered if what he said was true.

  “Why me?”

  “Your family line was from here thousands of years ago. The legend says that there was a hard time that fell on this village and black bears killed many people. One of the medicine man imbued a man with special powers to fight the beasts and he would turn into a white bear at night to stalk out the dangerous foes. The white hid him in the snowy ice and they never saw him coming. This saved the village and he passed the ability on to his children. Your ancestor was the medicine woman and every other generation, our two families most converge, or the magic wears off.”

  It all sounded like such a magical tale, one that you would tell your children and add in a moral at the end. If she had not seen him change once and then back again, she never would have believed such a fable. There were more questions that she wanted to know, but she was more interested in seeing her new home.

  The man passed her small house and continued up the hill for another mile and a half in the truck. She had gotten dressed and followed him outside. He wanted to show her new home, but she still seemed to be taking it all quite well.

  The road made the woman nervous and she tried not to look down off the edge. She already had doubts about the place and then the trees opened up, revealing the gem hidden behind them. The house was huge and beautiful. It was completely hidden from the main road. She never would have known it was up there

  “Wow, I see your business does well.”

  Darryl chuckled and kissed her on her lips.

  “Our business. It will help with all of the children we will have. I have ten brothers.”

  “Only brothers? And who says I am going to have that many children?”

  “You cannot say no to me.”

  Aria smirked, but she knew deep down that she would never say no to him. He was the man of her dreams and she was never going to let go. His eyes darkened as he put the truck in park and pulled her out with him towards the house. He opened the door and followed in behind her. In his home, he was excited to have her make it hers as well. It was a long time coming that the Alpha heard the pitter patter of his bloodline and he could not think of anyone else that was more suited to have them. His mouth came down on her surprised one and she was quickly winding her body around his.

  “Now about our babies….”

  Darryl grabbed her up and squeezed her sides as he dragged her up the winding staircase to their new bedroom. He barely made it through the threshold, before he threw her onto the bed and covered her with a skilled quickness. Aria was his for the taking.

  THE END

  The Highland’s Call

  Jessica Savage

  Copyright ©2015 by Samantha Leal. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Thank you so much for your interest in my work

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 1

  Andrea clutched the small stone in the palm of her hand. It felt cool and smooth and somehow strangely comforting. Her Grandmother Betty had insisted that her only granddaughter be given this small artifact on her death. That had happened over a week ago, as Andrea was driving through New York. It was almost as if she knew. An image of her beloved Gran had flitted through her mind at the exact moment she took her last breath.

  Betty was her father's mother. Her dad Joe had died a few years ago and her mother Pat had remarried. She had never approved of her stepdad, Pete; he could never replace her beloved father.

  Perhaps she was being unfair, but she had always sided with her dad against her mum, and now the two women seemed poles apart, no longer able to communicate with each other. Pat didn’t even attend the funeral. Not that Betty would have minded. She had never approved of the union in the first place.

  Andrea had inherited her Grandma's creative talents and she had been close to Betty when she was a child, closer than to her own mother, but after college she had been offered a three-year contract with a major advertising company in New York, and it had been too good an opportunity to turn down. Betty had understood that she needed to fly the nest. She had been a young woman once, although that seemed such a long time ago.

  Andrea had only seen her Gran when she flew home for Christmas and important family occasions. Then she had met Steve and her life in the US seemed to take on a more permanent footing, until the death of her Grandma had made her suddenly homesick for the English countryside. She loved the buzz and fast-paced life of New York but now longed for some peace and time to reflect and find herself again, and she certainly couldn't do that on F
ifth Avenue.

  Steve had stayed behind. He was in the middle of an important project but was willing to travel with her on a trip home for the funeral. For once Andrea didn't feel the need to be accompanied; this time she wanted to be alone with her thoughts and memories. Her insistence on being alone had caused a strain between them, the first serious rift since they got together almost two years ago, and it would be the first time they had spent any real time apart.

  The pressure of the stone against her palm brought her back to the present. It had been almost five days since she left JFK airport, and Steve hadn't phoned her since. Not even yesterday after the funeral to see how she was coping. It saddened her to think the man she had grown to love could be so stubborn and heartless, and she began to question her commitment to the relationship. Did she really know him? He had seemed to be perfect for her, and she had enjoyed his company; yet when she looked back at the continual rounds of friends and parties, drinks and dinners, it seemed somewhat shallow. Lately she had started to feel broody; her body clock reminding her that time was ticking away. She had mentioned it to Steve once in a light-hearted way, and he had held up his hands in mock horror. That would never be the deal with him; his career was way too important, and her needs would always come second.

  Did she and Steve really have anything in common?

  The day was grey and coarse; the wind whipped up sharply from behind the trees and caused her to shiver. She had forgotten the English weather and hadn't prepared nor packed for it.

  Opening her palm, Andrea looked down at the stone in her hand. She remembered seeing it as a child, taking prize position behind the glass in the old china cabinet in her Gran’s front room. Occasionally she had been allowed to take it out and hold it in her small palm. It was pale in color, not quite white and not quite beige. Several markings had been etched deeply into the surface, and she’d been told it once belonged to a white witch with magical powers. As a child, she had held the small token and made a secret wish that she would never grow up, that she would always remain a child. Of course, that hadn't happened. Not physically, anyway—but perhaps in her heart?

  Grandma Betty had always been so full of life, her small blue eyes twinkling on the wrinkled and careworn face. There had been some sadness in her youth, but no one had talked of it and Andrea had never asked, but sometimes she saw a wistful shadow slightly dimming those sparkling eyes.

  And now the stone was hers—that and an old battered leather diary from 1956. Before her death, Grandma Betty had written her a letter, the hand-writing barely legible on the expensive vellum cream paper. It had taken her a while to read the spidery hand.

  Andrea,

  My darling Granddaughter, I fear that I may not see you again. I do hope that is not the case, but I have to be practical. There is so much I should have told you and so much left to say, but my time is running out. Remember the wishing stone you used to ask me about as a child? I leave that to you. It's my most valued possession. You must promise that you will do something for me? The stone needs to be returned to its rightful home on the Isle of Iona, just off the Isle of Mull. You must take it into the Abbey and enter the little graveyard of St. Oran's chapel. Take the stone and place it on the third grave on the left-hand side. I can't explain everything to you in this letter. Most of it I don't understand myself. But you must promise me this, this small pilgrimage of mine. The diary may help? Call it an old woman's ramblings, but as you loved me please do this one last thing for me. The thought of you, my only remaining flesh and blood carrying out this last request, brings peace to my mind as I near my end.

  I will never stop loving you even when I am far away.

  Grandma Betty x

  Tears trickled down her face as she imagined the dear old lady sitting up in bed, scribbling her last instructions to the world. It must have taken a lot of effort to write the letter. She had been in a very weak state in the end and therefore must have considered it extremely important to write.

  Andrea had promised Steve she would be back in a few days, but what would a few more matter? It wasn't as if he was speaking to her anyhow. She would visit Iona. It was the last thing she could do for her grandmother, and although it would mean a further 1000 mile round trip, it would give her some peace of mind to follow her last wishes.

  The phone vibrated in her jeans pocket, and pulling it out, she could see it was Steve calling from New York.

  "Hey." His voice was deep and apologetic across the miles, and her heart thumped loudly at the sound of him.

  "Hey, back." She tried to sound light as she finished their usual greeting.

  "So, how are you?"

  She could tell he was struggling to find the right words.

  "Not too bad, under the circumstances. It was the funeral yesterday." Andrea could feel herself start to choke on the words; she had been bottling things up for too long.

  There was a pause as Steve caught his breath. "Yesterday? Andrea, I'm so sorry, I would have called. I thought it was today."

  Another lengthy pause ensued. Usually they had so much to talk about.

  "At least you'll be home tomorrow,” he added. “I've missed you."

  And now it was crunch time.

  "Steve, I won't be coming home tomorrow. I've extended my stay by a week." She could hear disappointment in the silence that followed.

  "I have to go up to Scotland, to Iona. It was Gran’s last wish."

  "What?"

  His voice sounded incredulous, as if he hadn’t quite heard her right.

  "It's just something I have to do; it was her dying wish that I visit the chapel there."

  "But honey, you don't have to do that now. Not right away, anyway. You haven't forgotten the opening night for my exhibition, have you? It's in four days. I want you by my side. You promised."

  Andrea had forgotten, and she closed her eyes as if that would make things go away. She had tried that as a child; it hadn't worked then, and it didn't help now. It just gave her a few more seconds to think.

  "Andrea?"

  "It was her last wish, Steve. I've got to do it."

  She could feel his exasperation as he breathed heavily into his phone.

  "Are you crazy? You know how much this exhibition means to me. You're not really going to put your senile old grandmother ahead of me, ahead of us?"

  "Grandma Betty wasn't senile!"

  "I know, honey. I know how much she meant to you, but you've got to be reasonable."

  She was three and a half thousand miles away, and “reasonable” was something she didn't have to be. The word irritated her, and she could feel the anger rising in her throat.

  "Andrea?"

  She pressed the end call button and put the phone back in her pocket. End of call, end of relationship, she guessed. She shouldn’t have felt angry; she knew the exhibition meant everything to him. She should be the one feeling sorry and calling him back to apologize, but Andrea didn't feel any of these things. Her grandmother dying and her trip home had sparked something inside her, some longing and need that she couldn't quite grasp. The only thing that she was certain of was that she needed to travel to Iona as soon as possible.

  Chapter 2

  The next day she was leaving Yorkshire, traveling by train up North to the Inner Hebrides of Scotland and would complete her journey by ferry to the tiny Island of Iona.

  Although still cold outside, the sun was shining brightly in a vain attempt to warm the chill October air. Inside the carriage, Andrea was cozy, sipping a cup of coffee and watching the world race by. The scenery of the Northumberland coastline stretching its way up North was breathtaking, the sunlight dancing and glimmering on the waves as they brushed against the solitary, rocky bays.

  She felt truly liberated.

  It would take most of the day to reach Iona, so Andrea settled back in her seat. She had no book to read but then remembered the small pocket diary from 1956 in her bag and eagerly pulled it out.

  The pages were yellowing and the
diary entries didn't start until June that year. The writing was faint, but she could just about make it out.

  June 13th, 1956

  Arrived on Iona after a long journey. Fishing boat brought me over from the main Island of Mull. Mother still not pleased with my decision to take a few months away, but I need some time to paint and think. There is plenty of time to become a housewife.

  Andrea smiled. She had married Grandpa Joe in 1958, so not too many years of being free and single.

  Little pencil sketches filled the margins of the paper: a fishing boat (maybe the one she had traveled across the water in?) and a hut or shack standing alone. It looked bleak.

  June 14th, 1956

  Digs are basic and chilly. The walls are made of corrugated metal so very cold at night. Porridge and kippers for breakfast, which I have surprisingly enjoyed. It’s much warmer outside in the early summer air than in my poky little room. Glad to get out in fresh air and now am going to walk over to the Abbey.

  19:15- Had a lovely day. The Island is truly breathtaking. The Abbey is a very special place and it felt strange yet welcoming, almost if I had come home. My great, great-grandfather’s family were Scottish—one of the Great McDonald Clan—maybe that is why? I must go back and do more sketches tomorrow in the early light. Have been told the sunrise here is spectacular.

  June 15th, 1953

  Up early. The sky is still dark, but I want to set up my easel in the little chapel grounds so I can start to capture the first rays of light against the Abbey, and get a feel for the colours and the peace at that time of day.

  The rest of the diary entries ended there. But towards the back of the book the scribbling started once again, not in any particular date order, but just what seemed like a collection of thoughts.