MC ROMANCE: Wanted by the Alpha Biker (Motorcycle Club Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (MC Romantic Suspense Contemporary New Adult Short Stories)

by Alix Labelle

  Then she was screaming his name, thrashing underneath him as the hot ball inside of her started to melt down. Her muscles contracted and then release overcame her. It was too much for the man and he slammed forward in a blur, his own bliss just out of reach. He jerked her ass closer and slid deeper into her abyss. “Chayla, yes. Oh fuck.”

  His blast of seed was hot and she cried out with another wave of pleasure. Her hips were the ones moving, desperately trying to get more of his softening cock. Charles finally pulled out and lay next to her, breathing hard.

  Chayla was not finished and she grabbed his still-hard length and climbed over his body. She settled down on top of his, groaning as he filled her. It felt too good to stop and Chayla started to move her hips slowly, squeezing him back to life. It grew inside of her, soon thrusting deep against her bottom. Her eyes closed and she touched her stomach where it pushed outward from his inner penetration. Charles moved his hand to hers and moved her fingers to her quim. They rubbed together, the dual stimulation bringing her to new heights.

  She was soon lost to his upward rutting and playful hands, tugging on her dark tips. Chayla tried to keep up, but her body practically collapsed against him when another wave of bliss moved over her. She slid off of him before he was finished and Charles mounted her from behind, pulling her ass high to slide back in.Chayla moaned and buried her face into the mattress as his body slammed her over and over again from behind.

  When he finally pulled away and released her, they were both breathing hard. She nestled against his chest and was quickly asleep, wrapped in his safe arms. Sleep took longer for Charles, holding her tightly against his chest. He felt like he had been given a second chance and he was never going to let her go.

  THE END

  Coming Home

  Chapter 1: It started with a box

  My relationship with Adam was, well, tumultuous, to say the least. We had gone to the same college and were both business majors. I wanted to go into hotel management while he had his sights set on the corporate ladder, namely the top rung. The first thing I fell in love with about Adam was his passion. If there was something he wanted, he went after it and didn’t let up until it was his. Our friends used to joke that it was the reason we were together in the first place, which always made me feel a little uneasy.

  We met at a party under unusual circumstances. I had gotten myself locked in the bathroom, which for anyone else would just have been mildly embarrassing. For me, it was a nightmare. I’m extremely claustrophobic. I’m not sure why. I joke that it’s because I couldn’t stand being inside my mother’s womb for longer than I had to be, but I honestly can’t place my finger on why small spaces affect me so dramatically. I was in the bathroom for a solid twenty-three minutes before Adam wandered past and heard my sobbing and my knuckles weakly dragging down the wood.

  I don’t think it was the fact that he had released me from my tomb that made me get coffee with him the next day, but it was that he hugged me. A perfect stranger, a mushy pile of tears and sweat on the dirty bathroom floor of a college co-ed’s apartment. It takes a certain kind of person to be willing to put aside the possibility that I was covered in vomit or had an angry boyfriend waiting down the hall to just sit and hug a person in the middle of a party to make them feel safe.

  On our third year of living together, Adam asked me to marry him. I was only twenty-four and hadn’t quite struck it big post-graduation. He, on the other hand, was already on the sales floor at an insurance firm in Manhattan. I was envious, of course, but he never put any pressure on me to perform. In fact, he supported the idea of me staying at home and being his “trophy wife”. While the notion of being a homemaker was alluring, I knew I wanted more for myself. What was the point of going to college if I didn’t have any intention of using my degree?

  I agreed to marry him under the condition that we stay engaged until I found a job that I loved and was successful at. He agreed and everything was wonderful. Or so I thought.

  At his company’s Christmas party that year, I walked in on him have sex with his boss’s assistant in the coat check. I told him I expected more than a cliché. He told me he expected more than sex once a week. I went home in a cab and he didn’t come home that night.

  “It’s over,” I said to my mother on the phone that night, weeping into my faded college sweatshirt’s sleeve.

  “Honey, I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding,” I could hear my mother biting her bottom lip in despair.

  “How can you misunderstand your fiancé fucking another woman?” I shakily grabbed my glass of pinot off the coffee table Adam and I agonized over buying. Everything in the house had Adam all over it, if only because it was his money that bought it. I hated him. I hated everything around me.

  “I know you’re upset, Nellie. Would you like to come home? Stay with us for a while?” The idea of living under my mother’s roof was sickening. My parents were divorced, had been for quite some time, and my mother remarried after seven years. Her husband’s name was Bob. Seriously. Just Bob. I even checked his license once – it read “Bob”. He was a retired high school gym teacher and looked like one, too. He spent his days watching football, talking about how, if it weren’t for his knee injury, he could have been a contender. I don’t know why, but I just can’t trust a person who willingly drinks and enjoys Miller Lite.

  “No, Mom, thanks.” I rolled my eyes and sniffed hard, mucous clogging my nasal passages in the most inconvenient way.

  “Well, what are your plans, Janelle?” I hated when my mother used my full name. I could imagine her eyes narrowing and was preparing for her voice to get shrill and nagging. “You can’t live with the man anymore. He’s going to kick you out eventually.”

  “Yes, Mom. Very helpful. Thank you.” I curled my feet underneath me on the couch, welcoming my cat, Tweety, onto my lap. She was being very affectionate that night, even though I read that cats never give a shit about anything, ever. No matter the circumstances. As my mother rambled on, I wondered if maybe Tweety had an itch she just couldn’t scratch or maybe if I just didn’t smell like her anymore, so she’s reapplying her stink. As the words “embarrassment” and “judging” filtered in, I told my mother I had to get off the phone.

  “Alright. Well, call me tomorrow. I love you, Nel.” For the first time in the conversation, I actually felt as if my mother was sad for me.

  “Love you too, Ma.” I hung up the phone and immediately began sobbing violently. It was so loud that Tweety scampered away and hid underneath the dining room table, another piece of furniture that Adam and I fought over. My argument was that we would never need a table that sat twelve guests and he argued that having it might make us more social. As I tried to bait her out from underneath it with a toy mouse, the doorbell rang. I questioned opening it in my state, but to hell with what I looked like.

  “Hey, oh, my God, what happened?” It was Laura, one of my closest friends, both physically and metaphysically. I started crying all over again.

  “He’s a pig, Laura!” I screamed and it felt wonderful. “He’s a worthless pig and I hate him! And it’s over! It is over!” Laura ushered me into the house with the casserole dish she had borrowed earlier that week and was, undoubtedly, returning to me.

  “Why? What happened?” we sat down on the couch and I calmed myself, though I still sounded like a congested toddler when I spoke.

  “We had his big Christmas party in the city tonight and, like, halfway through dinner I notice that he’s not around,” Laura nods incessantly, “and then, so, I got up from the table, and I looked so cute tonight, I swear. I looked like a million bucks. Everybody thoughts so. And so, and so I walked around the banquet hall and couldn’t spot him, so I thought maybe his boss, I don’t know, took him outside or something, to smoke a cigar or something like that. So I went to coat check to get my jacket so that I could, you know, go outside, and I see them.”

  “Who?” her eyes got wide and I thought she’d look even better with a b
owl of popcorn in her lap.

  “Adam and some chick named Amber or Crystal or, I don’t know, some other stupid noun like that, in a slutty red dress. In the coat check. Having sex! She is his boss’s assistant!” I screamed and covered my mouth with the tissue I had just about used up. Laura gasped.

  “What a cliché!”

  “I know! That’s what I said! I told him that it was a cliché and that I deserved better than that. At least be on the roof or something.”

  “Oh my God, Nell. I’m so sorry.” She put her hand on my shoulder as I shook with rage. “Where is he now?”

  “Hell! I hope that’s where he is.” I sat up straight and sniffed back more tears. “I don’t know. He’s probably sleeping at her place.” Just saying the words made me want to vomit. Laura stayed with me for the rest of the night, made sure I got to bed, and went home.

  My eyes were swollen when I woke up and I spent most of the morning shrinking away from the light like a vampire. I fixed myself a bowl of cereal, but didn’t eat it. Tweety helped herself to the milk as I combed through the paper that was on my doorstep looking for apartments. Laura offered that I move in with her for a few weeks, until I found a place. I ruefully accepted. When my cell phone rang, the sound sliced through my head like a hacksaw.

  “Hello?” I answered bleakly.

  “Babe?” It was Adam. I hung up the phone immediately and my eyes began to burn with new tears. The phone rang again. I silenced it. The phone rang again. And again. And again. I justified answering it by telling myself I wouldn’t say a word. “Nellie?” I said nothing. “Nellie, it’s me.” I sighed. “Listen, I want to talk to you about what happened last night. I was drunk and my boss, he urged me to do it. Said that everyone who makes partner sleeps with their boss’s secretaries.”

  “Assistant.” I corrected.

  “Listen, Baby, it was nothing. A rite of passage. To get me ahead. It’s not like I love her or anything. I love you.” I remained silent. “I know you need some time.”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t ever want to see you again. I’ve thought long and hard about it and, you know what? I’ve decided that you’re a piece of trash and so is your hot new girlfriend.”

  “Nellie, just don’t. Don’t act like we’re not going to get back together after this.”

  “I hate you.” I hung up the phone. It rang again. I didn’t answer it this time. Instead of trying again, Adam settled for a text message with the address of the corporate suite he was staying in. He explained he’d stay there as long as I wanted him to. That I could have the house and that the sacrifice of not living there with me should be proof enough that he’s sorry. I told him I wouldn’t need long to get all of my stuff out.

  For the next week, I began packing up my things in boxes and looking for apartments. Every afternoon at 3:00pm, a dozen long stemmed red roses arrived at my door and every afternoon at 3:05pm, a dozen long stemmed red roses landed in the trash can. At first, I read the notes that came with them, full of “I’m sorry”s and “please forgive me”s. After the third day, I stopped reading them. I expected this from Adam. As I explained before, he was a very passionate man. To a fault.

  That Friday, I had my first job interview. A new Bed and Breakfast had opened up a few miles away and they were looking for a manager. While it wasn’t the most illustrious of hotels, it was something. Laura had told me I could catch a ride with her that day as my car was having some trouble with the whole running thing. I kissed Tweety goodbye and walked out onto the porch, waiting for Laura to arrive.

  “Hey!” I heard a man’s voice shout to me. I jumped and looked over to neighbor’s lawn. A man dressed in a knitted cap and a heavy black jacket that looked to be about three sizes too big for him made his way across the snow covered yard. I walked down a few steps and met him at my walkway. “Hi, I’m Brian.” His smile was perfect. His teeth were nice and straight, pearly white, and his lips curled around them exquisitely. He was very handsome. I was quite taken by his shining blue eyes and how they reflected the white snow around us.

  “Hi Brian, I’m Nellie.” I reached out and we shook hands, cordially.

  “I just moved in,” he thumbed behind him to the house that had been vacant next door for years.

  “Oh, that’s nice. I was wondering when someone would.”

  “How long have you been here?” he asked, his breath condensing in the cold air.

  “A few years. I’m actually moving soon. My fiancé and I lived here together.” I paused, realizing I had just created a very awkward first impression. “But, that’s a whole big thing. So, yeah.” I smiled, trying to save face. He nodded and chuckled.

  “Yeah, I know a lot about that.” He smiled, apologetically. Laura pulled up in front of the house and honked her horn. Brian turned and waved to her and she responded by narrowing her eyes.

  “Well, that’s my ride. It was nice meeting you, Brian.”

  “Nice meeting you, too.” He smiled and walked briskly back to his house. When I got into the car, Laura stared at me gravely.

  “Who was that?” she asked, accusingly.

  “New neighbor.” I put my seatbelt on as she began to drive.

  “Oh. Okay. I thought maybe it was one of Adam’s goons. He was cute, what’s his name?” I rolled my eyes as we made our way towards town.

  When Laura dropped me back home after the interview, I was feeling really great. The best I’d felt in weeks. I had nailed it and the owner had all but told me I had the position in the bag. I was to expect a phone call in the next day or two, but I was walking into the house ready to celebrate. When I got to my porch, though, Brian called out to me again.

  “Hey, Nellie!” he shouted and jogged over to my porch.

  “Hey, Brian,” I said, seemingly annoyed, though he was just as handsome as he was earlier that day.

  “Your fiancé, does he have blond hair?” I nodded. “Is he, like, five-ten, five-eleven?” he asked, with his hand up to show the height.

  “Yes, why?” I asked, my heart fluttering with nerves.

  “Okay, well, a few minutes after you left, a car pulled up and someone got out and went into your house. I assumed it was your fiancé because they had a key and a vase of flowers.” I swallowed hard.

  “Roses. How long was he in there?”

  “Not long. About twenty minutes or so. He left in a hurry, but I didn’t see anything in his hands, so I don’t think he took anything. I wasn’t sure if I should have called the police because you weren’t really, well, specific this morning about your relationship. Is that okay?”

  “Um, well, yeah, I guess so. I wonder why he came.” I scratched my head, questioning the validity of asking Brian to escort me into the house. I decided against it. “Well, thanks for letting me know.”

  “No problem.” He smiled and waved as he walked back to his pathway, half shoveled. I waited for a moment longer, watching him pick his shovel back up and begin heaving the snow away, like He-Man. It was nice.

  I walked into the house and the first thing I noticed was the smell. It smelled like burning. Putting my coat and purse on the floor, I made my way into the living room where absolutely nothing was out of place. The blanket was still haphazardly bundled, my magazine was still open to the same page. The smell was stronger, though. I looked to the dining room table.

  Sixty long stemmed, once red roses were laid out along the table. Most were bent and battered, some were still straight as a pin, but all of them were now black, their petals brittle and broken fragments of petrified ash waiting to fall into dust. Adam had found the roses in the trash can and decided to make a true gesture, one that couldn’t be thrown away no matter how long it sat in the garbage.

  I picked up the roses, careful not to shake any of the burnt petals onto the ground, and deposited them into the kitchen trash can. I swiftly took the bag out and put it outside. I walked it all the way to the curb, in case Adam wanted to drive by again and take a look. I thought to call Laura, but I didn’t want to
worry her or encourage another session of talking about Adam and our history. At that point, I just wanted it to be over.

  I busied myself with spray the house in an attempt to mask the smell of Adam’s fiery passion, but easily succumbed to the couch and the magazine I was almost finished with. After a minute or two of reading, I heard a very faint sound coming from the bedroom. I waited until I heard it again and made my way upstairs. As I got to the room, I heard it was a very distinct meowing. I sighed loudly and smiled, getting on my hands and needs to check for Tweety under the bed.

  “Where are you, princess?” I spoke softly when I saw she wasn’t there. I walked to the en suite bathroom door, which was closed. “Did you shut yourself inside again?” I opened the door, ready for her to come speeding out like a bullet. She did not. The meowing became more and more persistent, less of a reminder and more of an alarm. “Where are you?” I said to myself. I checked the closet, but she wasn’t there. Where ever she was, she had been there for a while now. Then it hit me.

  In the far corner of the bedroom is the entrance to a crawlspace. The house was very old and the attic was converted into a “master floor”. While it looked great and gave us plenty of room to put furniture and guests, it left us with nothing more than a tiny, coffin-sized crawlspace for storage. My heart began pounding. Adam had done something. Tweety had now starting howling, hearing that I was nearer.

  Shaking, I opened the hatch to the crawl space and was hit immediately with freezing cold air. I began to panic. I could hear Tweety scratching violently as I neared my head towards the space. I closed my eyes, breathing heavily, and my mouth starting to fill with saliva. When I opened my eyes, the room began to spin. The crawl space looked no wider than a shoe box and my chest heaved under the pressure. I saw the box all the way at the other end, shaking and twitching. I started to cry, though not voluntarily. The cat was screaming and howling, probably half frozen, and I could do nothing but sit in a lump and cry. The box was marked “Adam’s”.