Biker Chicks: Volume 2

by MariaLisa deMora

  Over and over, he fucks me deep, his dick hitting my sweet spot every damn time. Resounding moans belt from my lips, only to be muffled as I press my mouth to Nash’s neck. Air pumps from my lungs in a frenzied pace. Sweat dampens my body.

  Grunting in satisfaction, Toa then curses as he bottoms out, only to draw his hips backward to pound into my pussy even harder the next time. My frame pitches atop Nash’s, stimulating my aching nipples as they rub against the fabric of his shirt. Everything burns in ecstasy, leaving me to feel nothing but the delicious maelstrom of each thrust.

  My mind blanks as a finger breaches my asshole and I cry a wanton moan.

  Oh … God.

  Toa pushes his digit deeper, driving me to the edge of no return. With another slam of his hips, I shatter into a million pieces. Biting into flesh, I silently scream through my climax as my body turns rigid for a moment before trembling wildly in Nash’s strong embrace. Every single cell of my body flicks on, as the rapid fire of shameless satiation skitters through me. My hips hump on their own accord, needing more, wanting more. And Toa doesn’t disappoint as he continues to fuck me from one lush orgasm into the next.

  “Oh, shit!” I scream, arching off Nash’s chest as yet another crescendo peaks.

  His hand locks around the back of my neck, bringing my lips to his. Without a moment’s pause, he kisses me hard and without remorse, delving his tongue into my willing mouth. Our tongues battle for dominance, as we groan and claw at one another. Losing myself in him, my breath falters. Yet, he doesn’t let go as his possessive hand tightens on my neck and his other grabs my side, acting as my anchor.

  More and more, I come, unable to stop it as one rolls into the next. Even when Toa finishes, his dick is replaced with another and then another. It doesn’t take long for my body to give into its basic carnal urges. Moans and rapturous groans that I never knew existed explode from the deepest parts of me. Through my wails of raw hunger, my fingers clutch anything that I’m able to, as I lick and bite whatever my mouth settles on. Including Nash’s lips that I can never get enough of.

  Once another orgasm passes, a new one replaces it and my mind goes from blank to floating. Every muscle turns to goo as I melt into Nash’s heaving chest. Both of his arms lock around me, his lips pressing kisses into my soaked hair.

  “That’s enough,” he orders, gruffly. “Beau, she’s done. Take your dick outta her pussy right the fuck now.”

  Listening to his VP, the cock pounding my center slides out, leaving this vacancy that makes me want to beg for more. For them to fill me up again. To ease this need just one more time. In place of whining, I fall deeper into this heavenly plane where I can drift and everything is warm, soft, and utterly perfect. Nothing can touch me here. Nothing can breach this ethereal fog to fuck with my head.

  As exhaustion plays heavily on my body, a further calmness settles over me, and my eyes shut. A few beats later, my breathing begins to even out. My limbs turn boneless.

  I’m vaguely aware that Nash is speaking to me, or someone else, as the vibrations in his chest break like tiny waves into my dream world. I feel my weightless frame being shifted off his muscled one, and then I’m being carted away, drifting through the cool air. My legs dangle freely, with a sense of heat enveloping my left side. My cheek rests on a soft, yet firm cloud that smells of him, and I release a sigh of contentment. This is my heaven.

  The floating halts and my legs swing as the distinct smell of cinnamon and cloves invades my brain, briefly flashing a picture behind my eyelids of the only place this scent lingers—Nash’s bedroom. Ever since I was a little girl, his rooms have always smelled of this. From place to place, year to year, it remains untouched.

  A deeper sense of infallible comfort spreads through my limbs, and I wrap that feeling around me like a cape to keep me safe for always. I try to pull my knees to my chest, but I’m not sure if I’m successful.

  Descending through air, the strong firmness is torn away when I melt into a long pillow of Downy scented paradise. A silky blanket of warmth settles over my body. Indistinguishable words are uttered, the tightness around my calves is released, and a delicate softness is pressed firmly to my forehead, as thick prongs sift through my hair, driving me deeper into this divine plane of absentminded nirvana. In the only place that feels like home—a place where cinnamon, clove bedrooms, and the man who protects me against all odds lives.

  Goodnight.

  A Road to Nowhere will be published in a full novel titled NOWHERE in December 2016.

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  AUTHOR BIO

  Author Bink Cummings was born and raised part of a biker family. Upon the incessant coercion from her sacred sisters, she has begun her newest journey in life--writing. When she's not shacked up in her home writing at all hours of the night, Bink enjoys riding motorcycles, taking care of her family, reading, and cooking huge meals--Especially her infamous chocolate chip cookies.

  Gun Totin’ Annie

  MariaLisa deMora

  Annie slid down the wall, feeling the collar of her jacket catch on the light switch a moment before the room plunged into darkness, shadows covering the scene in front of her as a numbing chill settled over her body. That darkness was broken by narrow strips of light making their way between the slats of blinds covering the single window in the rent-by-the-hour motel room. Driving bass beats from the adjoining rooms infiltrated the walls, two seperate sets of music pounding through the space, filling her head with discordant noise. Her neck bent forward, chin hitting her chest as she tried unsuccessfully to push back the sounds she’d been making since hitting the room and seeing what was waiting.

  Light also crept into the room from underneath the door to her left, and her gaze fell to the carpet. Her focus locked into place as it stuck on the bloody bootprint framed between the heels of her black motorcycle boots. Her breath began to rasp hard, the noises deep in her throat filling her ears, drowning out the goddamn music. She saw the toe of that print pointed directly toward her ass, that ass now planted on the floor. Without conscious thought her gaze rose, eyes rolling in her head so she looked at the room from underneath scowling brows. In the intervening seconds, her vision had adjusted to the dimmed lighting, so now instead of the blackness of dark she saw shapes. Shapes which her imagination had no problem fleshing out. She gagged and clamped her lids shut tightly, welcoming the darkness back however she had to take it.

  Coates was sprawled across the narrow bed, one petite foot propped on the mattress, knees splayed wide, pussy on full display. Her hands were up above her head, tied wrists anchored to the legs of the bed frame. In the few seconds Annie had to look, she had seen the bruising on her sister’s face. Bruising that meant whoever the motherfucker was that did this, that motherfucker had her for a while. She had also seen the broad, gaping mockery of a smile slashing across her neck, darkness of a different kind saturating the bed underneath her.

  “Fuck,” she whispered, having been successful in quieting the raw emotions threatening to drown her in grief, but her small voice was no competition for the music still pounding around her. With the level of noise in these rooms, other sounds in the building, and the general disinclination of the transient population to become involved, it was highly unlikely that anyone heard anything; even if Coates had screamed. Bitch was tough, she thought, knowing Coates probably held it back until he forced it out of her. And even then, no one had heard or if they had heard, cared enough to intervene. “Fuck me.”

  The vibration of her phone in her pocket accompanied by the glow through the thi
n material of her jeans startled her, and she slapped at the lump, eventually silencing it. “Fuck me.” Gaze locked on the single footprint leading to the room’s exit, she pushed hard with her still-trembling legs, levering her back up the flat surface behind her. She startled when her coat again snagged on the light switch, turning on the lamp beside the bed and illuminating the scene a-fucking-gain. Now, thank God, she felt somewhat separated from what she saw; shattering emotions beaten back by what she figured must be shock. Disconnected from what she saw. “Jesus, Coates. Who the hell did you let in?”

  Without shifting her feet, standing still, she scanned the room, looking for anything out of place from when she walked out yesterday, headed for a meet with the Rebel Wayfarers, the local dominant MC, trying to ensure that nothing like this happened. Their club of two-dozen women had shit from all sides lately, she and Coates’ mission was to defuse at least one of those sides, making a play for immunity from the party responsible for the region.

  Play gone bad, clearly. Fuck.

  Their small bags were on the floor by the closet, Coates’ exploded with the girly shit she liked. Her jacket with the single back patch telling everyone she was a proud member of the Gypsy Queens. Both pairs of their chaps draped across the top of Annie’s bag. That bag still zipped shut because she’d gotten the call from the Rebels veep before she even sat the fuck down. The light didn’t reach far into the bathroom, but what she could see looked normal. Makeup and hair shit all over the counter, useless underpowered motel hairdryer mixed in, cord hanging down the edge of the cabinet, draping over the top of the closed bowl and plugged into the fixture. Coates had put some care into her look before going out.

  Her gaze swung back to the bed and she took in the sight of her sister again. Hair done up to the nines, makeup around her eyes raccooned with hard-earned tears, but still there, that slinky top she liked to go cruising for dick with. Taking care to look classy and pretty because she liked nice dick. “Who the fuck did you pick up?”

  Gaze sweeping the floor, she stepped closer, careful not to let her boots land in the nearly dried puddle that had pooled underneath the bed. That puddle creeping out to cover the floor in jagged swaths, attesting to the unevenness of the surface beneath the cheap carpet. Poor workmanship and shoddy materials contrasting in her mind with what she knew was pretty underneath the beautiful surface of her sister. She looked down at Coates, blinking sudden tears away.

  Focus.

  Look at her sister.

  See. Really see.

  Panties around her waist, ripped at the crotch and pushed out of the way, bunched up with her short skirt. Pussy raw looking, bruising high on her thighs. Fucking bite mark on her hip breaking the skin, blood smeared across her belly. She brought dick back to the motel, which meant… “You wore a skirt. If you wore that skirt, then you didn’t ride the fucking scoot.”

  A glance towards the bags again, low-heeled sandals kicked next to the wall. Coates was tall and she liked dick, which meant she tried to minimize what she saw as her flaws and maximize her assets. Hence, the hair and makeup paired with a slinky shirt and short skirt, but low heels so she wouldn’t be taller than the dick. But, short heels meant she could have walked to wherever it was she found her trouble. Annie shook her head. Taxi could have hauled her ass, too. Speculation didn’t help. Focus, she reminded herself, mentally shaking her head even as she did it physically.

  Gaze back to the bed, continuing her assessment. “Huh.” Rope around her wrists hadn’t been on her long enough to bruise, which was at odds with the beating her face had taken. He’d left her loose a long time. Leaning to one side, not over the body, she stared at Coates’ fingers, seeing the broken and torn fingernails. “Got you some of that. Good girl. Fuck going easy.”

  Motherfucker liked her fighting; besting a woman probably got his dick hard. Had to round it that way first, then bind her to fuck. She looked between Coates' legs again, saw no evidence of ejaculation, and grunted. Didn’t get off or used a condom, either way, how the bruising there looked, he slashed her before he finished pounding into her. Fucking her as she bled out underneath him. Shit.

  Her phone going off again scared the shit out of her, and she jerked it out of her pocket, thumb swiping across the screen to answer without looking as she put it to the side of her head with a loud, barked, “What?”

  “Got answers for you. Fury wants you back in the bar, one hour.” The voice was low and smooth and she immediately called up the picture in her head of the one man who fit that sound. Tall, really tall, and really good looking, tatted up in all the right places, definitely eye candy, but he seemed to be more, too. He had been vocal before the meet as well as after, but silent during, which told her he had sway, but no official place at that table. The fact that the president of the club had him try and recall her, well, that told the tale, too. This brother had pull.

  “Domino,” she said softly. “I got a problem with that timeline.”

  Even over the music still pounding through the room she heard his irritated sigh. “Fuck, bitch, do you not get that you are not gonna get a second run at this? Thought you wanted to help out your sisters.”

  “Oh yeah, I get it, big man. But, I got a problem.” The music from one side changed, now echoing in through the door, too, and she turned to look because that meant one of the rooms next to her had opened. It was expelling some of that sound into the parking lot, which also meant one of the occupants could be on the move and with what she had in the room with her, this did not give her the warm and fuzzies.

  Bam. Bam. Bam. “Open the fuck up.” She realized that all along there had been music coming through the speaker of the phone, too. Fuck.

  Thumb moving on the surface of the phone, she disconnected and stood still. She stood, staring at the door between her and a man who stood outside. A man who should not be there. A man who had still been at his club’s bar when she left after spending fucking hours there fucking waiting and then finally talking, but not resolving. A man she had not clocked following her on her way back to this room, where her sister lay cooling in her own blood.

  Bam. Bam. Bam. Through the door she heard, “Annie Oakley, open the fucking door.”

  Huh. He caught her full club name somewhere, which meant he had done some digging. Said he probably knew what else she had not told his president. Reaching to her back waistband, she drew her gun from the holster there, taking a deep breath as she reached up and flipped off the light before calling out in a soft but steady voice, “It’s open.”

  Stepping to the side, she heard the knob turning in the door, even over the music she heard it click as it opened, the tongue of the latch slipping in near silence past the strike plate. She saw the sliver of light that grew, angling across the room until it hit the bed, revealing the gory mess that lay there.

  “What the fu—” was all he got out before she reached out and grabbed his collar, jerking his head to the side and hard against the door. That moveable object sprang away, but he was startled enough she was able to push the door back against him, also hard, propelling him headfirst into the doorframe, dragging a grunt out of him before yanking on his collar one more time. Jamming the barrel of her gun into the small of his back, she ground it in as she slammed the door closed, plunging the room into darkness once again.

  “Might wanna lead with why you’re fucking here,” she cautioned him in a low, flat voice when he prepared to say something, pulling in a breath. “I got a dead sister in the room. A room and a sister that only your brothers knew about. So again, I’m telling you that you might wanna lead with what I wanna know.”

  “Followed you back, Fury wanted to know where you were.”

  She released his collar and her hand moved to pull back the slide on the gun, feeling him jerk as the distinctive noise sounded, her hand moving back to reclaim her grip on the collar now sticking way up from his cut. “Nope.” She shook her head. He came from one of the music rooms, meant he was here by the time she rolled in,
which also meant he already knew where they were camped out. She had left her sister here last night, breathing and laughing. Left Coates hopeful that Annie could work her normal magic by getting the Rebels to leave their little band of chicks alone and he already knew where they were. “Try again, but I am not gonna be patient.”

  “Fuck, Annie. You had to know Fury would scope you before you got the invite.”

  That was true, and she expected it. She just hadn’t clocked it, which wasn’t like her. Meant she left her sister behind and uncovered, which lead directly to her lying not five feet away with a raped pussy and slashed neck. That was on her, but she wished like fuck it could be on Domino, too, so she could deal some of her pain out, purge that bile from the back of her throat. She shook him, all her strength barely moving him in place now that he was tensed and ready. “You got boys in those rooms?”

  “Yes,” was his immediate response, followed by a grunt when she ground the tip of the barrel harder against his spine, digging deep.

  “They deaf?”

  “Let me check in, see what they might have heard, talk to—” He cut off because she pulled the gun back an inch, then thudded it against him, a thin smile flattening her lips when he spidered against the wall a little tighter, pulling his tense limbs into his torso. Amateur, she thought, propelling herself back across the room before he could make a move. She landed against the wall next to the bathroom with an audible “oof,” but still in control of the gun. Upper hand mattered in encounters of all kinds, but especially this one.

  He had twisted around and taken two steps across the room when she used the switch beside her to turn on the bathroom light. Domino halted and she knew it was because her gloved hand was visible, steady and holding the gun aimed at his gut. “They deaf?” She asked the question again just to push him, because if she gave him a chance to think he would realize she knew she was fucked. He was in the room, bigger and stronger and probably also armed. She had the drop on him now, but his brothers were on either side, also bigger and stronger, so even if she took him down they’d hear and there was no fucking way she would be able to make it to Calamity and ride.