Owned by the Biker: Desperados MC

by Ashley Hall

  “I'm getting a drink?” Isabella gestures to the glass being clanked down in front of her, filled with a dark blue liquid and chunks of partially frozen fruit.

  “No,” says Gabe, “out here, in this part of town. You look more like you should be at the Ritz than out here.”

  “Oh.” Isabella casts around, still half expecting her parents to come busting into the small building. She leans close to Gabe and, in a hushed voice, says, “I'm running away.”

  “Running away? From what?”

  “My family,” says Isabella. “My mother, mostly. She's overbearing in a way that I cannot even begin to explain. I just want to get out of there for a little bit. I just want to be able to be myself.”

  “I'd like to get to know that person,” says Gabe with a low hum. “Someone that's running away—you must have some pretty big shoes to fill at home.”

  “You could say that.” Isabella gives a tittering, nervous laugh. She brushes her hair behind her ears, first the left one, then the right. Then, in a habit that she cannot ever hope to break, she untucks them. “I really just want to get away. I know I cannot vanish forever but...”

  “But even a little bit of time is enough?”

  “You sound like you understand.”

  “I've got a few demons to be running from.”

  Isabella sips down the last of her drink. She gives the waitress a small smile. “Could I have another one, please?”

  “Of course, sweetheart. Give me just a moment. What about you, Gabe? Should I keep them coming?” Bethy nods at the still partially full bottle of beer.

  Gabe laughs. “Just keep us matched up tonight, Bethy. I don't want to out-drink my little friend here.”

  “That's sweet of you,” says Isabella. “It's hard to imagine someone as nice as you having problems.”

  Gabe laughs again, louder this time. He wraps an arm around Isabella's shoulders. “Baby, you wouldn't believe the problems I have.”

  “Tell me?”

  “You'd be here all night,” warns Gabe.

  Isabella says, “That's exactly what I was hoping to hear.”

  Chapter Three

  As the minutes drag into hours, Isabella finds herself completely taken with the handsome stranger. It's hard not to be swept up by his charm, not to let him rest a hand on her thigh, or lean close when he says sweet things.

  Everything about Gabe makes Isabella feel hot, makes her skin tingle. She laughs too loud and talks too much, falling sway to the conversation like she hasn't spent her entire life trying to be a proper lady.

  But those lessons fall away in the wake of a grim and smoke-filled room. They fall away when Gabe smiles at her, all crooked teeth and nicotine-tinged breath.

  “You're beautiful,” he tells her, long after the last bell has rung. Aside from Bethy, there's no one else around. “You are absolutely stunning. Tell me, you're running away from your parents? Are you headed to someone else?”

  Isabella shakes her head. “I don't know where I'm going. That's why I'm here, I guess. I just didn't want to be there anymore, stuck in the same old rut. I want to live! I want to do something risky, for once, do something that other girls my age would brag about!”

  Gabe glances at the clock, then at Bethy. The barkeep waves her key ring at them, a clear sign that she's about ready to leave. He asks, “Like to ride a motorcycle?”

  “Like...do what?”

  “A motorcycle.” Gabe taps the leather vest that he's wearing. “I ride. I thought, if you're just trying to live a bit tonight, that might be a good place to start. It's safer than just running around in the dark, alone. That's not smart, Izzy.”

  “I know it's not,” says Izzy. Rationally, she knows that going for a ride with a stranger is just as dangerous. Irrationally, there's a fire raging between her thighs and a storm in her chest and the longing to do something insane biting at her brain.

  She gets up, pulling a folded-up bill from her pocket. Isabella lays it on the counter, enough to cover the tab for the night and then some. She holds her finger to her lips, begging the other woman to be silent.

  Wide-eyed, Bethy nods in agreement and holds the folded-up bill to her chest. “You two be safe out there. You're good to drive, Gabe?”

  “When am I not?”

  “Two nights ago, when I had to clean your ass up off the floor.”

  “I'm fine,” grouses Gabe with a wave of his hand. “Don't worry yourself over it. Come on, Izzy. I parked out at the side.”

  # # #

  The parking lot is dimly lit. A beat-up truck sits in one lot, and a well-cared for motorcycle sits in another. Isabella knows very little about motorbikes, but she's positive that this is an expensive one, that it's taken care of just as well as her father’s favorite sports car, which he pays someone to maintain.

  “It's amazing,” says Isabella, dragging her fingers over the smooth, black paint.

  Gabe grins. “She is pretty great, right?”

  “She? How do you know it's a girl?”

  “I can just tell,” says Gabe. “So, you ever been on one before?”

  Isabella shakes her head. “No. I've never even been this close to one!”

  “Alright, it's pretty simple. I'm going to get on first.” Gabe does so, moving like the motion is second nature. “Now you get on behind me. You're probably going to have to push that skirt up pretty high…”

  Unashamed and maybe even a skewered attempt to flirt, Isabella hikes up her skirt until her panties are only just hidden and slips onto the motorcycle. It's strange, having her legs straddle the giant piece of machinery.

  She feels unbalanced and uncertain. “Like this?”

  “Yeah,” says Gabe, fumbling to get the keys out. “Just like that. Now, you're going to want to put your arms around my waist. There we go, hold on real tight. I don't have seat belts on this thing, so you're going to have keep a good grip on me. Probably best if you lean forward, too.”

  Again, Isabella listens. Her breasts press against his back. She shifts about on purpose. “Okay, I think I'm on well enough. Where are we going?”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “I don't know anything out here.”

  “Just pick something, anything!”

  Isabella says, “Your house?”

  Gabe throws his head back and laughs, hard and loud. It's a nice, rolling sound. “My house? Alright, I think that one might be feasible.”

  The motorcycle starts up with a deafening roar. Isabella squeals when it starts to tremble and buck against her thighs. Her grip on Gabe's waist turns to iron, white-knuckled and clenching.

  “Hang on,” he bellows.

  And just like that, they take off down the street. The vibrations spread through her thighs and along her spine, where they settle at her very core. It's like nothing that Isabella has ever felt before. She presses her face against the side of Gabe's neck, belatedly realizing that neither of them are wearing helmets.

  That's dangerous, isn't it? Isabella is certain that it's dangerous. She doesn't know much about motorcycles, but any intelligent human being can tell that careening around corners at such a high speed isn't safe. And still, it's exhilarating.

  Isabella has never felt like this before. Her chest is tight, and her skin is tingling. The places where she's curled up around Gabe's body feel hot and light, as if she's floating. The vibrations make her loins hot and her panties damp. She's wearing a pair of silver satin panties that suddenly seem like an awful, horrible, wonderful thing.

  “This is insane,” she shouts, raising her voice to be heard over the crashing wind.

  Gabe shifts. His muscular back rolls against Isabella's front; her breasts press against his leather back, her hands clutch against the man's front, just above his jeans. “Just hold on! I'll make this quick!”

  “Make it long,” shouts Isabella, in turn. “I don't want this night to ever end!”

  Chapter Four

  Gabe's apartment is on the other end of town. It's
a small, ramshackle thing. For the first time in a long time, he's almost ashamed to be bringing a woman up to his room. The elevator doesn't work, and they have to take the stairs.

  Thankfully, his young friend doesn't seem the least bit bothered by the peeling wallpaper or the dank smell in the air. “It's charming,” she says, after a botched and half-formed apology on Gabe's part. “I think it's real charming.”

  “I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or not.”

  Isabella looks surprised. “Why wouldn't you?”

  “Most people say it to be sarcastic,” says Gabe, with a laugh. “You seriously didn't know that?”

  “I don't get out very much,” says Isabella. “And I'm not really from around here.”

  “I can tell from the accent. England, right?”

  “Close.” Isabella smiles at him, wringing her hands together nervously while he fiddles with the key to his apartment. The front door has several gouges in the wood near the bottom, like an animal tried to get inside.

  Gabe catches her staring. He laughs and says, “The neighbor's dog got out of her apartment last winter. It spent, like, four hours our here trying to get inside. The place is sort of a mess.”

  Isabella gives him a soft little smile. “I'm not over here to see the place.”

  “Oh, so you do have something in mind?”

  Her cheeks burn hot and red. The blush spreads out over her neck, stains the back of her knuckles. Isabella's naturally pale skin flares up and she laughs, but the sound is too loud to be anything less than nerves. “Maybe? I guess it depends on what you have in mind.”

  “A lot,” says Gabe, pushing open the door to his room. “I have a lot in mind.”

  The apartment isn't a complete wreck, but it's far from clean and nice. A window air conditioning unit has been wedged into one of the windows, and pieces of wood have been duct taped up on either side to try and help keep the cold air in. Piles of dirty laundry have been sorted out next to the television stand.

  It's Gabe's turn to laugh. He rakes a hand through his messy hair. “Laundry day's coming up. I always put it off to the last minute, you know?”

  Isabella doesn't, but she agrees anyway. “It's always rough.”

  The conversation turns stilted. Isabella knows nothing about living outside her royal quarters, no matter how much she longs to be free, to go and get a dorm at fashion design school. It's more apparent than ever that this isn't her life, that it will never be her life.

  Gabe takes the sudden lack of conversation as nerves. He gets a hand on either side of Isabella's waist. “You don't do this very often, huh?”

  Isabella bites her bottom lip. She shakes her head. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Only when you're looking.”

  “And you are?”

  “Honey, I've been looking since you first walked into that bar. Everything from that pretty face down to that lovely, little ass of yours has held my attention. All I want from you is to get my hands up under that skirt and really look you over. I bet you're beautiful without anything on.”

  His words send fire through Isabella's veins. Her hands are trembling and she tries to hide that reaction by looping them around Gabe's neck, running fingers through his hair. It's slightly greasy, like he hasn't washed it in a while. The wind is still clinging to his skin, adding an otherwise undeniable layer of freshness to the rest of the night.

  Slowly, Isabella stretches up onto the tips of her toes—an awkward feat considering her choice of footwear—and presses a kiss against his chapped lips. They taste like nicotine, and it takes everything Isabella has not to giggle.

  She's never smoked before, but she's always sort of wanted to give it a try.

  Right now, second-hand seems to be almost as good.

  What starts as a chaste kiss quickly changes. Gabe is over powering, overwhelming. He kisses like it's the only thing he knows how to do, until his breath is twisting in Isabella's mouth, until she feels so small that the entire world seems painless.

  Her eyes flutter shut, only to snap back open when one of Gabe's hands moves to rest on her ass. He gropes the Princess through her dress, fingers rough and unyielding, even though the kiss seems almost tender.

  Teeth nip at her lower lip. Isabella gasps, and Gabe takes that opportunity to delve into her mouth. His tongue swipes over her teeth, her gums, and her cheeks, like he's trying to taste every part of her. Isabella cannot stop the moan that bursts from her, fingers tightening in Gabe's hair.

  Then, suddenly, she's not standing on the ground anymore. Gabe's picked her up, one arm under her ass, one around her shoulders. It seems to be no effort at all for the biker to carry her. Isabella finds herself slammed up against the wall of the living room. Dust rattles off the shelf above her head and clings to her lashes.

  She tries to blink it away but fails. There's no chance to brush it away, either, because Gabe is ravishing her mouth again. This isn't sweet. This isn't tender. But it still makes Isabella think, this is it, this is the one.

  With the wall helping support the run-away princess, Gabe has no problems letting go of his grip on her shoulder. Instead, he presses his hand against the side of Isabella's face, drags his palm down until he's able to wedge a thumb between her painted red lips.

  “Fuck, look at you. I bet this mouth of yours is going to be just perfect.”

  It's hard to get the words out. Hell, it's hard for Isabella to even breathe. “Perfect?”

  “Mhm.” Gabe slips his thumb into her mouth, hooking it against her cheek and tugging at the flesh. “It's going to look great wrapped around my dick.”

  Isabella moans. Her tongue rubs against Gabe's thumb. Again, her eyes flutter shut. They stay that way until she's pulled away from the wall. Staggering steps carry her into Gabe's bedroom, where she promptly finds herself in a heap on the floor.

  Her pale blue skirt flows out around her. Oddly, Isabella is reminded of a day, not too long ago, where she sat in a position much like this for a photoshoot. Her hair had been pulled back, then, rather than caught up in the windswept mess that it is now.

  “Gabe?”

  He grins down at her, this self-assured smirk that goes right to her loins. “Alright. Let's see if that's actually going to look as nice as I think.”

  “What?”

  “You've sucked dick before, right?”

  Isabella hasn't. She nods anyway. She shifts closer to the edge of the bed where Gabe has made himself comfortable. Trembling fingers rise up to toy with his fly; the sound of the teeth unhooking from each other seems almost like thunder.

  “I can do this,” says Isabella, more to herself than Gabe. She's painfully aware of the fact that her motions are sharp and almost sloppy. It's not like she doesn't have access to the internet at home, but it's hard to find time to herself to watch more of the erotic videos that she really enjoys.

  And, of course, there's something different about seeing a cock on the screen of her computer versus seeing one in person, right there by her face. It makes her heart beat too fast, like it's trying to wrench itself out of her chest.

  Each thud is louder than the next. Isabella cannot think past the sound. She runs her fingers down Gabe's length, almost reverently, then takes him in a loose grip. She glances at him from under her thick lashes. He looks more expectant than anything else.

  A blow job.

  Right.

  Isabella tells herself, You can do this, and she wraps her lips around the flared head of his cock and sucks.

  Chapter Five

  Gabe lets out a low moan, more air than anything else. He's never been a loud man, and that doesn't change just because he's in the bedroom. The fact that Isabella is only a little bit more than sub-par probably plays into it.

  Despite what she says, it's clear that the blonde doesn't do this often. Might not have ever done it before. She's all tooth and tongue and wandering lips, but her sheer excitement sort of makes up for it.

  And, of course, the way she l
ooks with her lips kiss-swollen, with her eyes watering when she accidentally takes too much in at once. “I knew you'd look great like this.”

  She gives a pleased hum. Gabe runs his fingers through her hair, then twists them in her pale golden locks.

  “You just stay like that,” says Gabe. He tightens his grip on Isabella's hair and then shifts, plunging himself deeper into the wet cavern of her mouth. Now that's what he's been waiting for. Her throat convulses around his dick; Gabe uses Isabella's hair as leverage, bucking into her mouth, taking what he wants because it's the only thing he knows.