Biker Chicks: An Anthology of Hot MC Romance

by AJ Downey

  Roach looked at me. “You’re rolling with him for-real? Like, you ain’t his beard or nothing?”

  I blinked. “No, we’re going out.”

  “Told you,” said Savannah.

  “Shit,” said Roach. While I stewed in complete confusion, he pulled out his wallet and handed Savannah two twenties and a ten. She grinned and stuck the money in a black leather purse that sat on the table. “Baby gets a new pair of shoes,” she said. She patted my hand. “And I owe you a drink.”

  “Um...okay,” I said. Before I could work up the nerve to ask any questions one of the other girls came to the table.

  “You’re up,” she said.

  Savannah nodded. “Enjoy the show,” she said.

  “I know I will,” Boz called after her, grinning.

  I sat twining my hands in my lap. Savannah’s phone buzzed. Roach picked it up and flicked it open. “Hannibal’s on his way,” he said. “Shouldn’t be long.”

  “Thanks,” I said. After an awkward pause I kept talking. “What was the bet about?”

  Roach grinned. “Hannibal, he ain’t exactly a ladies’ man. Savannah said he was picky. I said he was gay.” A shrug. “Looks like she was right.”

  “You bet against your old lady?” Boz chuckled. “Dumbass.”

  “Aw, shut it,” said Roach, but he didn’t stop smiling.

  We all turned to the stage when the music started. It was a song I knew; Jimi Hendrix, “If 6 was 9”. Savannah strutted across the stage in time with the drums, her smoldering gaze raking the crowd. Then she took to the pole, writhing against it with the deftness that came from long practice. I found myself wrestling with a different brand of nerves.

  The men whistled and pounded their palms on the table when her top came off; she winked at them, running her hands over her breasts, throwing her head this way and that in time to the music, hair swirling around her like an inferno. The crowd shouted and threw bills onto the stage when she peeled off her panties; I sat still, eyes wide and round while she twisted her naked body around the pole and across the stage, her every move lacking a trace of shame. The song ended, and she bowed to thunderous applause.

  “I wanna fuck you!” shouted a customer. Me too.

  Savannah threw back her head and laughed, chest glistening with sweat. “Get in line!”

  I would if I knew how, whispered a dark corner of my mind.

  Roach nudged me. “Want a drink?” He had a flask in his hand.

  Most days I would have said no. “Sure.” I grabbed the flask and took a deep sip without bothering to ask what was in it; the briny taste of tequila hit my tongue like a firebomb. I took another gulp anyway.

  Savannah walked back toward our table. She hadn’t put her bikini back on, and I was glad for the dim lighting; my face was so hot I was worried it might burst into flames. “Ooh,” she said, plucking the flask out of my hand and taking a bigger gulp than I had.

  “Vitamin T,” she said as she handed the flask to Roach. “I approve.”

  My head spun, and not from the liquor; sitting at a table with two outlaw bikers and a stripper was not where I’d pictured my day ending when I woke up.

  Savannah tied her panties back together and stepped into them. Nipple piercings winked at me as she pulled the G-string over her hips. “I need to get back on the floor,” she said. She threw an arm around my shoulders and hugged me. “Nice meeting you.” Thanks to the angles involved, her chest got pressed against my face.

  “Um, yeah...you too,” I said. She smiled and walked away.

  I looked at Roach. “Can I have another drink?”

  He passed the flask over and I sipped at it, less than the first time because I didn’t want it coming back out. As I drank I watched Savannah circulating between tables, a weird mix of attraction and envy swirling in my heart. I wasn’t jealous of her figure; I envied how she could strut around while all but naked in a roomful of strange men without a care in the world. I wished I could be that comfortable in my own skin.

  Gabriel’s words came back to me; I like what I see, he’d whispered as he’d peeled the clothes from my body. Had he meant it? Would other guys think the same if it was me up on the stage, slipping out of bra and panties with a smile and a wink?

  No way, hissed my issues. Maybe, said my liquor-fueled imagination.

  As if the thought had summoned him, Gabriel came walking up to our table. “Hey there,” he said.

  “Hi.” I felt a stab of guilt at not calling him. I knew all too well what that was like. I braced myself for stony words. Instead he leaned over and kissed me; I blinked, dazed.

  He cocked his head. “You been drinking?”

  I giggled; the tequila had officially taken over.

  Gabriel gave Roach a wry look. He shrugged. “She asked, man.”

  “I did,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Worse things than a little trouble juice,” he said as he sat down. “Still, if you’re gonna break the rules, Roach, be less obvious about it. I don’t need my job getting any harder than it already is.”

  “Fair point,” said Roach with a rueful grin.

  I put my hand on Gabriel’s knee. “I wouldn’t mind leaving,” I said before I could stop myself.

  “Sure,” he said.

  As we walked toward the door I slipped an arm around his waist; I didn’t need the support, I just wanted to touch him. Once we were outside I hugged him.

  “Nice to see you too,” he said.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

  “Reckoned you were busy,” he said.

  “No,” I said. “Just being a coward.”

  “So you come down where I work instead?”

  I shook my head. “I know, pretty nuts.”

  He ran a finger down my cheek. “I don’t mind that,” he said.

  “Why?”

  He kissed me, a brief brush of lips that made me want more. “I don’t mind making you a little nuts.”

  “Take me somewhere,” I whispered in his ear. “I want to make it up to you.”

  I spent the ride pulled as close to him as I could get, one hand tracing along the waistband of his jeans; it took me several minutes to realize I was even doing it.

  We pulled into the parking lot of an auto repair shop and dismounted; confused, I looked over at Gabriel. He pointed to a switchback staircase. “I live up there,” he said.

  “Must get annoying,” I said as we walked up the stairs.

  “Not really,” he said. “I work part time for Henry, he don’t charge much rent, and being here makes me hard to find.”

  “Why is that important?”

  He unlocked the door. “I been in the tough life since I was seventeen,” he said. “I’ve made an enemy or two.”

  “...oh,” I said, getting the same spidery chill I had during our first talk; excitement and fear made for a cocktail as potent as Roach’s tequila.

  Gabriel’s apartment was larger than mine but a good deal sparser; aside from a couch and a dining table there wasn’t much in the way of furniture. A weight set sat in one corner along with a heavy bag. The kitchen was larger, and while the counter and cabinets were cheap and crude, the cooking tools on display looked expensive.

  He stepped up behind me and slid his arms around my hips, pulling me close. “I’ll be honest,” he said. “When you didn’t call I was pretty sure you’d had second thoughts.”

  I leaned against him. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m bad at this.”

  He turned me around in his arms. “So am I,” he said.

  I toyed with the lapels of his vest. “I sure don’t think so.”

  “Reverse is also true.” Gabriel bent down and kissed me; I didn’t know what it was but so help me God, every time he did that the world up and vanished. I couldn’t see myself ever not wanting to be kissed by him.

  He took off his vest and jacket, hung them up. “Bed?”

  “Yes.”

  As before he carried me to the bedroom; his bed was huge, king-sized a
t least, with the softest black sheets I’d ever felt. However, this time when he crawled in beside me I pushed him into the sheets and straddled him, a strange kind of madness coursing through my heart. Some of it was the tequila. Most of it wasn’t.

  I pulled his shirt over his head, but when he went to do the same for me I pushed his hand away. The madness that wasn’t madness grew, cresting like a wave made of impulse.

  “I got this,” I said to the question on his face.

  I un-did the top button of my blouse, slid my fingers down the seams to the next button as slowly as I could, my eyes on his. I parted the second button, and the third, gaze never leaving his face...for when I looked there, I saw something that all but sounded a chorus in my heart.

  I saw desire, a want that grew stronger the more of my skin was revealed to him.

  I parted the final button and slipped the blouse off my shoulders, but keeping my arms in it, lips spreading in a smile I’d never used...a wicked one, one that made promises. My bra closed in the front; I unsnapped it but didn’t let it part, pausing, watching the desire in him build and loving it. At last, I let bra and blouse fall away and tossed them on the floor. The lights were still on. I was glad they were.

  “Damn,” he whispered, pulling me forward for a kiss. I let him, sinking nails into his chest while our lips worked against each other, his hands wandering over my breasts, full of fierce strength but gentle all the same. I broke away, planting a kiss on his collarbone, his stomach. My hands found the buttons on his jeans.

  It had been a long night of firsts, but I wasn’t done yet.

  I opened his jeans the same way I’d opened my blouse; slowly, my chin propped on his hip so I could watch his face. He gasped when I got them open, eyes widening the way mine must have when he’d taken me the first time. I touched my lips to his cock and he gasped again, louder, the edge of a growl in his voice. I ran my tongue along the length of him; his eyes screwed shut, head pressing back into the pillow.

  I’d never gone down on a guy before and had no idea what to do, but I discovered how to learn; try things and see what happens. At first it was just kissing and touching, for I had a bad gag reflex and Gabriel was a big guy in more ways than one. But then in the heat of the moment, something occurred. My breasts are soft.

  I shifted until I had his cock between them, slid it back and forth with my mouth on the head, just like sex only different. He moaned again and again, half-strangled exhalations in which I heard ‘don’t stop’. His fingers slipped into my hair, not pushing but just touching, showing me the rhythm he wanted.

  And I didn’t stop, not until his hips twitched and the hand in my hair pulled my face away, his voice spiraling up into a choked shout. I buried his cock in my cleavage, but not before come ended up all over my face and neck, hot where it struck my skin. For a long moment all he did was breathe.

  “Is that...what you meant...by an apology?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  “I think you should fuck up more often,” he said.

  “I’ve never done that before,” I said.

  “You could’ve fooled me.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. I was a mess, and with come cooling on my cheeks the world said I should feel degraded, dirty, slutty. But when I looked at Gabriel’s face, slack with wonder and pleasure, I didn’t feel that way at all. I felt like I had when I’d aced a mid-term, like when I’d kissed him instead of waiting for him to kiss me. Like I’d done something right.

  Like I’d done something, period.

  Gabriel passed me a box of tissues from the nightstand. “Sorry about...y’know, getting it on your face.”

  “I don’t mind,” I said.

  Several minutes later we were both naked and curled up under the sheets; I hadn’t bothered hiding when I’d shucked the rest of my clothing, for all that my nerves had told me I needed to. I liked the way his eyes followed me and anyway, I liked watching him do the same thing.

  “You really never done that before?”

  “The first time with you was my third time ever,” I said. “This would be my fourth.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

  “You really liked it?”

  “Fuck yes, I did.” He chuckled. “Seriously honey, that shit was amazing.”

  I blushed, but it wasn’t from embarrassment. I’d never had anyone tell me I was good at sex in a way that wasn’t gross. Brice had mentioned how tight I was inside and it had seriously spoiled the mood; Ryan had gone on and on about my boobs and it had made me want to cover them up.

  “I find it hard to believe,” I said.

  “Why?”

  I paused. “Well, I mean...you must get a lot of girls.”

  “Not really,” he said.

  “But...I thought there were always girls throwing themselves at bikers,” I said.

  “There are, but that ain’t my thing,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. “I like to know who’s in my bed. Besides, that kinda action always has hidden fees attached.”

  “What do you mean?” I sat up and crossed my legs underneath me, wanting to pay attention.

  He kept touching me while he talked. “A lot of girls that come around the MC are fucking head cases,” he said. “They’re magnets for trouble...they’ve always got a sob story, and they’re willing to hump a guy so he’ll solve it. Usually they want him to throw their ex a beating, or get some drug dealer they’ve run up a tab with off their back.” He smirked. “Every one of them thinks they’re being original, running that game.”

  “And you don’t want to be used,” I said.

  “What I hate worse than anything,” he said, “is somebody trying to play me for a sucker.”

  “People do that?”

  “My schooling stops at the eighth grade. A lot of women think that makes me an easy tool to fix all their issues.”

  “I have lots of issues too, you know,” I said.

  He grinned. “There’s a big difference between a woman with troubles and a little girl who makes them.”

  “Sort of like how there’s a difference between a man’s man and a macho jerk?”

  “Exactly like that.” He laced his fingers through mine and pulled me close for a kiss, a kiss that came with caresses along my back and thighs. “One’s real,” he whispered into my hair, “the other is full of shit.” I gasped when his teeth found my neck.

  “Gabriel...”

  “Now it’s your turn,” he growled, hand moving between my thighs. “Hit the lights.”

  I did. It was a while before either of us got any sleep.

  “Okay Lys,” said Gabriel, “you ready?”

  “Yeah,” I said, sitting on his bike with my hands on the bars. He stood a few feet to my left, hands in the pockets of his vest. He’d been showing me how to ride, and it was my first time going solo. I was pretty good at riding a bicycle, but I’d never operated anything with its own motor and I was jittery. I didn’t want to crash my boyfriend’s only transportation. Thus why we were in an empty parking lot.

  “Like we talked about,” he said.

  I nodded, nerves worming through my gut. I started the bike and the engine throbbed to life with a stuttering rumble. I toed the kick-stand up and twisted the throttle like he’d shown me and the bike lurched forward, wobbling. I corrected the wobble by steering into it, just like a bicycle, adding more gas. My course straightened...

  ...and I was riding.

  It was work not to laugh out loud as I brought the bike in a wide loop around the lot, engine rumbling in my ears and between my legs. I’d always loved going down steep hills on a bicycle and this was way better. I took a second circuit around the lot, just because I could. The thought I’d had on my first trip came back to me, stronger than ever; I have got to get one of these.

  After a third, faster loop around the lot I pulled up next to Gabriel and killed the engine, flipping the kickstand down.

  “Well?”

  He clapped. “Li
ke a fucking champ.”

  “So, how fast does it go?”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Well now, I think she likes it.”

  “You better believe it,” I said.

  We’d been going out for six months; in that time, a great many things in my life had changed. I’d found myself going out more than I stayed in, which was a welcome change from my only excursions being to the local library. I’d quit my study group that had been my only friends because they did nothing but leech off my work, but also because taking Gabriel to meet them once had been a disaster. The boys had disliked him at first glance and the girls had all hit on him. He’d ignored them, staying polite but distant, but it had made me mad all the same.

  Gabriel’s friends in the Freak Patrol were another matter. He’d taken me to a few of their events, parties and the like. Theirs was a strange culture and I wasn’t at all sure what to think of it.

  If somebody wanted a case study in patriarchy, they could’ve found it in the Freak Patrol. Only those who wore the “Jester” patch could make decisions and their word was law; by club rule they were all male, and by tradition mostly white. Their wives had “PROPERTY OF” tattooed on their necks and worked into their vests, and their husbands would grope them in full view of everyone. Other women were like groupies in a rock band and kept around for the same reason; “party favors”, they were called, and none of the members thought much of them. My Gender Studies prof would’ve been appalled, and part of me wanted to be.

  And yet the old ladies I’d met were all more or less like Savannah; tough, fierce and half-wild, most toting pistols under their “PROPERTY OF” vests. All of them smoked and drank and swore, talking of sex and violence in ways that left me blushing. As patriarchal as their world was, I couldn’t imagine any of the old ladies submitting to abuse. I couldn’t imagine them submitting at all.

  The language I heard at their gatherings would have made my classmates faint, as words like nigger and fag got tossed around like candy. However, at one party members of an all-black MC called Shaka’s Chosen had shown up; they’d been treated like old friends and honored guests by the Freak Patrol, welcomed with hugs and back-slaps. When a Pride parade had happened on Capitol Hill the Patrol rode in support of it, escorting the marchers and backing off counter-protesters who’d shown up to cause trouble.