Biker Chicks: An Anthology of Hot MC Romance

by AJ Downey

  Over the next two weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, Jason and I spent a lot of time together. We’d been out a couple times, the first time after the house visit he took me to buy new smoke alarms for my cottage. I told him I didn’t have any, and that pretty much scared the shit out of him. That led us to talk about sports. I told him I’m wasn’t too bad on the basketball court which set off our next outing, three against one with three of his crew and their women, and me with Jason. The women are nice, they told me Jason’s wife had passed away a few years ago, but they didn’t say much else.

  After our third game, with us winning and I’m sure that they were throwing it in for us, we were sitting at the bench, rehydrating when I asked, “You had a wife?” Taking his hand into mine, I gave him a reassuring squeeze.

  He swallowed down his water, his Adam’s apple bobbing past it. He had his hair tied back, not that there’s much hair to tie up, but it looked hot as hell.

  “Yeah,” he answered. Rubbing his hands down his wife beater that displayed his ripped muscles.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to him, looking at the other two men playing happily with their wives. They were all lively and carefree. I hoped to find that one day.

  “One day,” he answered, standing from the picnic table, his basketball shorts hanging off his hips. “I will tell you. But today? I’m just gonna kick your ass,” he smirked, bouncing the basketball between his legs.

  My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh, you wish!” I declared as I chased after him, attempting to snag the ball, but also trying not to touch the tight muscles that wrapped around his body so perfectly. That wouldn’t be good. There’d be no going back from that.

  After that day, he invited me to a cookout at one of the other crewmen’s home. It was a beautiful setting, all tea lights, and casual attire in a relaxed environment. Rebecca, one of the wives, came up to me, nudging my hips with hers. I remembered her as one of the women who were playing basketball with us that day. “Hey. So you and Jase, huh?” she asked teasingly.

  I ran my eyes toward the table, finding Jason’s eyes watching me intently. I smiled, cupping my lips around my teeth. “Hmmm, maybe. I don’t want to put anything out there. We’re going really slowly. He’s a great guy and I’m just thankful to have him around me during this time,” I replied, taking a drink of my beer. She laughed as a little toddler ran up to the bottom of her legs and pulled on her skirt.

  “I get it.” She winked before moving off to attend to the little blonde haired beauty.

  Jason waved me over to him, and when I got there, I pulled out a seat next to him as we all shared stories of our childhood. Staying clear of the precious memories of my father, but still sharing a few. They all found the fact that I’m a chick who rides ‘hot’…men.

  That brings us to now. Where I’m cooking Thanksgiving dinner wrapped in a white and red spotty apron and pouring white wine into a boiling pot of stewed apples. Lisa comes in a large smile on her face. “Guess who’s here?” she sings.

  “Shit,” I answer, placing the pot on the stove.

  “You look hot, Meagan. Domesticated apron and all.”

  I swat her with the tea towel I was wiping my hands on before placing it back on the bench just as my mom rounds the corner with Jason following next to her, lost in conversation. His eyes drift off my mom and come to me, a slow smile crossing his face.

  “Hey,” I say, making my way to him.

  “Hey,” he replies, pulling me in for a hug and kissing me on the head.

  “Are these for my mom or me?” I ask, eyeing the beautiful flowers.

  “They’re for you. The wine is for your mom. Here you go, Angela.”

  “Thank you, Jason, you didn’t have to bring anything. And Meagan, I told you, you didn’t need to cook. I have a chef for that.”

  I roll my eyes. “Mom, where’s the fun in that. Let me put these in a vase and you can go take a seat if you want. Would you like anything to drink?” I ask him, pulling down a crystal vase from the kitchen cupboard and filling it up with water.

  “I’m fine for now,” he smiles weakly.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, placing the beautiful flowers onto the kitchen island.

  “I was hoping to leave this information until tomorrow, but I think it has good news inside it too.”

  “Okay, shall we go sit in the living room?”

  “Yeah, that will be a good idea.”

  “He killed my dad with his bare hands? And then set the place on fire?” I ask, choking on my tears.

  Jason takes my hand in his, his thumb running over my knuckles gently. His touch puts out some of my fire, but not all.

  “Tell me the good news that’s inside it?” I ask, sniffing, and swiping the tears away from my cheek. My mom’s sitting in her chair stock quiet, the wrinkles around her eyes showing her stress and pain. They were married for over thirty years. They separated because they weren’t in love anymore, but they still very much loved each other.

  “Sem was killed in a brawl. Apparently, a rival club got their hands on him. He passed away this morning.” Instantly, there a calmness took hold of me. I know a life is still a life, but he took my father from me, in such a violent way too.

  “Good,” my mom stated firmly. “He can rot in hell.”

  After he’d done the Thanksgiving dishes—much to my mother’s disapproval—I decided to show him my happiness on two wheels.

  “So…you ready to come see my baby?” I ask Jason as we walk toward my mom’s garage where I have her stored.

  “Can’t wait,” he replies, pulling me under his shoulder.

  I beep open the automated garage doors, and as they slide open, they reveal my rowdy little misfit.

  Jason whistles. “She’s a beauty,” he says running his large hands over the handlebars, locking his eyes onto mine. “Like her owner.”

  I smile at his comment, pulling my eyes away from his. He rounds the bike, leaning against it before pulling me into his hard, warm embrace. His familiar smell assaults my senses, man mixed with sweat, it suits him. It smells of Jason. Running his thumb across my cheek, and wrapping his hands around the back of my head, he pulls my lips to meet his where they join in a collision of warm sparks setting off from my lips and traveling down to my stomach. Bringing my hands up to his hair, I grip onto the dark waves, sliding them between my fingers like strands of silk that are just begging to be pulled. Opening my mouth wider for him, my tongue begs his to assault mine. And when it does, the soft slickness of his tongue engulfs itself around mine, at first a slow torturous pace, before our kiss turns hungry and needy. I bring myself closer to him, his bulge rubbing against my stomach only setting me off more. Wrapping his large hands around the back of my upper thighs, it sends tingles of desire coursing up my legs and straight to my clit. He picks me up and walks with me to the wall in the garage.

  Pulling back, he looks into my eyes. “I don’t want to do this here, not with you.” I run my tongue across his bottom lip, earning me a deep growl escaping his plump lips. “Fuck it,” he mumbles, his grip on my thighs tightening.

  Laughing against his lips, I nudge my head toward the upstairs loft. “There’s enough privacy up there.”

  He smiles, carrying me up the steep steps into the loft and placing me gently down onto the cushions that my mom had put up here after she decided they were last century looking. Jason removes his Henley and I run my hungry eyes down his impressive form, every muscle tightening with every movement. Coming back down to me, he places both of his fists on either side of my head, my body immediately falls to the cushions. He separates my legs with his large ones, so I wrap them around his waist to get a better grip. Slowly, he glides his rough hands up under my shirt, the hardness of his hands rubbing over my stomach as my breath begins to heave.

  He continues his travels up while perfect little kisses are being placed on my neck and collarbone. Gripping his hair, I pull his face up to mine and run my tongue over his plump lips before sucking his
bottom one into my mouth. His tongue becomes needier, his hands becoming more desperate. A pull from my white bra jolts me, my nipples prickling to life begging to be touched. Removing my top, he unbuckles his pants and pulls them down before running his hands up my inner thighs and swiftly removing my white silk panties.

  “You sure you wanna do this?” he asks under heavy eyelids.

  “Oh, I’m sure,” I respond, pulling his body back down to mine. His hips circle, grinding into my groin. My body pushes back instantly, trying to get a release.

  He chuckles against my mouth. “Little eager are we?” he asks over an arched brow.

  “Very,” I respond, not skipping a grind. At this point, I don’t care how desperate I may seem. He removes his boxers, his angry cock springing free from underneath. Admiring it, I smile up at him. It’s angry, thick and pulsing to be ridden. Getting up onto my knees, I push him down onto his back.

  He laughs. “Oh? Really?”

  I smile. “Really.”

  I begin making my way up his large body, my eyes stopping on his cock. I smirk, bringing my eyes up to his before lowering my face, but still keeping my eyes locked with his. Drawing out my tongue, I swipe a single lick over his pink helmet. He tastes of salt and man. His head swings back, his eyes closing and a single tight groan escapes his mouth. That was enough to ride the blowjob train. Wrapping my fingers around his large shaft, I guide him into my mouth, running my tongue around in circles while pumping and sucking him, watching as he loses his mind at my hands.

  My clit swells in need the more I watch him, and I become obsessed with pleasing this man. Letting go of my duty, I continue my climb, straddling my legs on either side of him and slowly lowering myself down onto his impressive length, keeping our eyes locked on each other until I have stretched to accommodate him. Biting down on my lower lip, I begin grinding on him, rubbing my clit across his pelvic bone, getting the perfect balance of penetration and clit stimulation. Large hands wrap around my hip bones as he guides me faster, my pace picking up, my head swinging back and my eyes closing, lost in the pleasure. With the slapping of our sweaty skin and the raw sound of our lovemaking, my orgasm zooms into me like a shooting star of flames, sending off a surge of pulses that wrack through my body. A few pumps later, the pulsing of his cock presses on my walls, filling me with his release. My body drops on top of his in exhaustion as he pulls me into his arms, placing a single kiss on my forehead.

  “My wife died in a car accident. She was eight months pregnant with our daughter. Killed by a drunk driver.”

  His revelation stalls my love making buzz, but I admire his honesty and I know that it would have taken a lot of courage to tell me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, running my fingertips over his forearms that are wrapped around my neck. “That’s so horrible. Beyond horrible. Did they find the person responsible?”

  He nods his head. “Yeah, they did. He’s locked up now.”

  “Good. He should join Sem.”

  “He should,” Jason agreed.

  “You never did ask me what I’d done to Sem to make him go off the rails?” I ask, looking up at him from my position, his five-o’clock shadow covering his jaw. He’s all man and I love it. He doesn’t need a damn patch to make him feel like a man. He saves lives, that’s more man than any biker I know.

  He shrugs. “I figured, when you were ready, you’d tell me. Nothing can explain that behavior.”

  “Well,” I begin my story, “I walked in on him with a club whore. It’s what they call their own personal escorts. Some of the girls were cool. Most of them were shit. All trying to become Old Lady status within the club. Anyway, I walked in on him and walked right back out. He begged me for days to take him back. The rest of the members hadn’t seen him in the days leading up to my dad’s death. A few days after murdering my dad they arrested him, we found out he was on some heavy meds. Crazy…I should’ve seen it, but I didn’t. And yeah, so the rest is…known. I’m glad he’s dead. I feel justice has been served.”

  He looks into my eyes, brushing a piece of hair out of my face. “I’ll take care of you from now on. You have nothing to worry about.”

  I smile. “I don’t need to be looked after, I ride a Harley! I’m damn badass!” I joke behind a smile.

  He flips me over, grinding his hips into mine. “Mmm, that you are,” he answers, kissing my neck.

  I think I’ve found someone I want to annoy for the rest of my life.

  Lucky him, I smile to myself.

  A little bit about me. I am the mama bear to four little kiddos, two girls, and two boys. I’m also a wife-to-be to my partner of ten years. We were high school sweethearts, without the high school. My little (big) family are my rock, and I’m so lucky to have them with me through it all.

  I am from New Zealand! Born and raised in a small town called Rotorua. It’s a beautiful city, just smells a little. I’m currently living in Australia on the Whitsunday Coast (Great Barrier Reef) where we hope to settle down for a long time. I love the beach, and margaritas, and wine. Don’t forget the wine. Chinese food is the best food.

  One day I hope to travel the world, preferably the US, because I’m obsessed with it. I would travel now, but my bank account is like...“Dude, no.” So I’ve put that in the goal bucket.

  I love all my beautiful readers, you have kept me going. You’re my inspiration to keep writing, with all your kind words and reviews. You are all amazing, and I write for you.

  That’s enough yappin’ from me. See you all in Wonderland. x

  Namaste.

  More Books by Author Amo Jones

  Sinful Souls MC Series

  Perilous Love (Sinful Souls MC #1)

  Intricate Love (Sinful Souls MC #2)

  Tainted Love (Sinful Souls MC #3)

  Westbeach Series

  Losing Traction (Westbeach #1) - Coming January 7th, 2016

  The Devil’s Own Series

  One Hundred and Thirty-Six Scars (The Devil’s Own #1) – Coming March 2016

  Her Queendom: A City of Dark Pleasures Short

  Bibi Rizer

  One hundred years after the Climate Wars,

  Fifteen years after the Expiation,

  At the height of the Embargo, our Island is a prison.

  The only way out, is death.

  The river welcomes me like an old friend, swirling its cold arms around me, pulling me down, down, past the glowing windows of the boudoirs, past the ruins, into the dark. Into nothing. Nothing is where I belong.

  No wives, no children. No citizen pass. I am nothing. My last thought is of my brother. Trust me, he said, as he took my life away.

  The cold of the water slows down my thoughts. How long have I been in the river? Am I dead? With that sluggish thought, I turn, my back slamming into something hard. Then some force sucks me into motion. Down deeper? Or up? Direction no longer has any meaning. I twitch and open my mouth, tasting the vile metallic sludge the river is famous for. If I don’t drown, I’ll die of some sort of septic shock. Either way works.

  My body wants to breathe, wants to live. My lungs contract, sucking in water, and convulse in protest, coughing. It’s more frightening than I thought it would be. I imagined peacefully losing consciousness, rocked to death by the ebb and flow of the current. Instead my unwilling soul fights my desperate body. Let me go, I reason with myself. It’s over. Who would want to live like this? But my legs kick, my arms flail. The current sucks me upwards. I turn my head up and see the moon, beckoning me.

  After I killed my third wife and her cousin, my fingers ached, burned. It was as though I couldn’t uncurl them from the hammer I used to do the deed. And my ears rung, so loud and clear that I spent hours searching, even before the police arrived. Searching for my other daughters, though they were safe at school. And of course, like some kind of fairy-tale queen, I felt their blood on my skin, no matter how much I washed. In the end, the approaching sirens were a relief. The roughness of the arresting officers, being hosed wit
h cold water at the prison, it was all a relief. As much of a relief that a man who has seen the things I’ve seen can ever feel relief.

  My drug addled wife and her cousin, raping my five year old daughter.

  I would carve out my own eyes if it meant I could stop seeing that. I sometimes wish I had tortured them before I killed them. Maybe the memory of their screams would block out my daughter’s little voice.

  “No! You’re hurting me! Stop!”

  If I hadn’t left my wrist pass on the bathroom counter that day, I never would have known. What good did it do going back for it anyway? I’ve lost it now.

  But my daughters are safe. My brother saw to that. My family is safe. What else do I have to accomplish in life?

  I’m nothing.

  “Breathe.”

  I try to move but my limbs are like concrete.

  “Try to take a breath. Come on now.”

  My body wants it, wants the life I threw away. My lungs give a pathetic little flicker, then my whole body convulses, ejecting the rancid water from all the wrong places.

  “That’s it, that’s it.”

  I feel her hands on me, squeezing my chest with a firm grip, pushing death out of my body, forcing life back in. At last she lifts me up, wrapping her arms around me from behind. Holding me there she squeezes my ribs powerfully. A torrent of river water jets from my mouth. I taste sediment and slime, as though I’ve been eating mud. Then, as she releases me, I fall to my hands and knees, and vomit.

  Finally my eyes remember how to see. I see night, and the rain slicked road beneath me. And I start to cry.

  She strokes the back of my head and my back, her rich voice making wordless soothing noises. When the tears keep coming, she pulls me away from the puddle of vomit and into her generous lap. The tears burn at first, but after a while they soothe, and my sobbing releases the knots of regret that have had me tied up for so long.