by Amber Burns
Overhaul
Boneyard Brotherhood MC Romance - Book 1
By Amber Burns
The following story is full of romance, sex and sensuality. See the preview below for a bit of foreplay.
“I want more,” she breathed and she was arching up onto her tiptoes to kiss me again.
The Kisses were becoming more heated and she seemed to have this desire to touch and explore me, her hands tracing up my chest and toying with my beard. Throbbing of an unpleasant variety began, I think it was because of the angle I was standing at. I needed relief. I needed to sit down. I pulled away and she made a soft noise of protest, I didn’t give her time to over think it. I tugged her into the living room and found the couch. I sat on it heavily and pulled her down to me. I pulled her against my side and caught her mouth, pain hadn’t taken away that growing hunger I had for her. She kissed me with equal fever, her hands going back to my chest and mapping it out through my shirt. I could only imagine what would happen when she really got going.
I decided to chance it, pulling away from her mouth and tracing the path along her jaw to her throat with my teeth and tongue. Her breaths came out in gasps in my ear, she didn’t try to stop me or pull away. If anything she encouraged me, her hands went up my shoulders and into my hair. As soon as her nails scraped along my scalp it was like a button was pushed. I tugged her into my lap, pulling her flush against me so she felt the hardness of my dick between her thighs. I might’ve growled, I dunno heat of the moment. I cupped a breast, feeling her fill my palm and wanting nothing more than to paw it out of her shirt and bra to feel skin on skin. I got no protests, only gasps and low moans of encouragement as I pulled my mouth along the length of her neck.
I made the mistake of letting go of her hips, because it wasn’t long after I started exploring her that her hips started shifting and rolling against me. She was riding me through our clothes, pressing down and making it clear that it felt good to do it. We were dry humping like teenagers. I didn’t even bother to stop her, if anything I was just as caught up in it as she was.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Bonus Novel: Inked Passions
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
More Erotic Romance From Amber Burns
Copyright © 2016 by Amber Burns
& Scarlet Lantern Publishing
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.
All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
Prologue
I didn’t find the Boneyard Brotherhood. The Boneyard Brotherhood found me. I had been at the end of my leash, using alcohol as a means to self medicate all the things that had followed me home from my last tour in Iraq. I hadn’t considered much after my therapy aside from surviving to the next day, but there was more to just surviving. I kept the ole Army routines, shaving and maintaining a cut that would keep any soldier out of trouble. It was a routine that had been drummed into me since boot camp and I wasn’t ready to let go of it because of a medical discharge. I had planned on being a lifer, I was going for the full twenty years and maybe beyond. But war, and life, had different plans for me.
Fortunately, life sent me a savior when I was bent over a bar top considering the flavor of the nine millimeter I kept at home.
“I’ve seen that look before,” a gruff voice cut through the drunk fog that had surrounded my brain. There’s a reason why they tell you not to consume alcohol while on some medications. “You’re at rock bottom and ready to call it quits.”
I pushed up from the bar to glare at the person intruding on my wallowing in self pity, ruining my contemplation of suicide.
“Fuck off,” I slurred; I really didn’t want to be bothered.
“Aye, soldier boy, don’t snap at me just yet,” the voice was attached to a grisly of a man, the majority of his hair was on his face and he was sporting a receding hairline, like the hair on his head decided it’d rather be on his face. “I see a man that’s down for the count and I’m tryin’ ta give you a hand up. Do you want it?”
I squinted at him as I tried to decipher what he was saying, it didn’t immediately make sense to me. “What do you mean?”
“You okay with riding bitch? I want to show you something,” he looked away from me to the bartender that had been serving me watered down beers, they were so weak it had taken more than a few to get me feeling this way. “He paid up?”
“Yep, he paid after each drink,” the bartender, an older man that made me think of my dad each time he gave me a new beer. I got a look that said I should reconsider my life, but it didn’t keep him from giving me the beer even when I went under the table.
“Okay, kid,” he hoisted me off of the barstool with a hand under one arm, being kind enough to catch me when I stumbled and nearly fell. “I’m going to show you a better way to deal with shit and you’re going to thank me when I do.” He took me out to the curb and gestured to a sleek motorcycle that sat next to it. At the time I had no idea about make or model. “Look at that beauty.”
“You interrupted my beer for a bike?” I asked, because it sounded crazy. “How is this,” I gestured to the bike and tried not to wear my issues on my sleeve when I asked the question, “supposed to help me?”
He handed me a helmet and put a bandana over his bald head before putting on a helmet himself. “It’s not just the bike, boy,” he said gruffly, giving me a look that said I was close to insulting him. “It's the ride that sets you free. If you weren’t so shit faced I’d let you drive it, but I would have to kill you if you dropped it. I like ya, I don’t want to have to kill ya.” He straddled the bike and gave the seat behind him a pat, grinning at me, “So you get to ride bitch.”
I didn’t mention that he didn’t know me. I just looked at the helmet in my hands, felt the ache in my back and wondered just how this would help. But, so far my options were nil. I was just considering chewing on a gun. What’s a last ride before I go? I put the helmet on and after a little awkward maneuvering on my part I managed to get o
n the seat behind him.
“What’s your name?” I asked before the engine would drown me out.
“Ted,” he said with a feral grin as he kicked the bike to life. “You call me Teddy, son, and I’ll gut check ya.”
He didn’t give me anymore of a warning. He started to ease the bike onto the road and the roar of the engine seemed drown out every thought I had while I sat at the bar. I held onto the seat that I sat on, not comfortable putting my hands on another man, and let the wind whip into my face. After the first bug smacked me in the face I learned to close my mouth. I was still drunk and I wasn’t ready to hurl on a moving vehicle.
Fortunately, six years of MREs gave me a gut of steel and nausea didn’t rear its ugly head. I surrendered to the sound of the roaring bike and the whistling wind. The lingering affects of the alcohol drifted away from me and I became drunk on the free feeling that was created by riding down the road. I had no clue how fast he was going, didn’t care either. I didn’t realize how much I was enjoying the ride until he eased us to a stop outside a little cinderblock building that was surrounded by motorcycles.
“Why stop?” I asked, feeling like I got gypped. I wasn’t ready to face reality that was ready to come back to me.
“We got where we were going, kid,” he shot me a grin over his shoulder like he knew this would be my reaction. “So,” he shifted a little so he could get a better look at me. “This the hand up you needed?”
“I’ve got to get me one of these,” I assured him, purposely ignoring his question.
He laughed out loud, causing the bike we sat on to rock a little. He looked a little bit on the heavy side.
“That’s the reaction I thought I’d get. C’mon. Get off the bike and I’ll introduce you to the rest of The Brotherhood. Then we’ll see what we can do about getting you a bike and getting you on your feet for good.” He helped me off the bike and walked it to a spot that he intended to park it. “So, fresh meat. What’s your name?”
I didn’t even question it when he called me fresh meat. I accept it wholeheartedly and I had an idea of what it meant. He had said the brotherhood, it must mean I was about to become apart of it.
“Private Second Class Sidney Redding,” I said like the drunk shit that I was. I might have even saluted him. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t slap me.
He let out a heavy laugh clearly amused by my introduction.
“Shit you are fresh. Drop the Army ranks, kid. I ain’t been in since Desert Storm. If you ever blurt that shit out again I’ll be sure to knock a knot in your head.” He took a breath, shot me a grin and jerked the door open. “Welcome home, Sid.”
1
Four years later and I hadn’t looked back or thought about chewing on my gun since. Teddy had been right. And, yea, he told me not to call him that. But the man was like a Teddy bear despite the huff and puff front he put on. Riding on a motorcycle had been the best way to get free of all the problems. It was to the point I was comfortable with letting go of the anti-depressants and the anti-anxiety medicines that didn’t seem to work for me, they only made me a drooling zombie anyway. I was embraced by a band of brothers, each from different branches and each retired or discharged for various reasons. I think the reason why Teddy picked me up off that barstool was because he saw the mess that I was, saw me struggling, and gave me purpose I hadn’t had since I was discharged. I was taught how to be a civilian by men that had been where I was.
It was a sweet relief. A relief I needed.
I spent the majority of my days working on bikes, someone had learned I was a mechanic while in the Army and that I was pretty good with engines so I got put to work to an extent. I was back to living with grease and oil on my hands, it was something I was good with and nothing I was going to complain about. My dues got paid by the other members, Teddy being one of them, in exchange for the work I did. I was certain that the club held the look of an innocent gathering for retired military guys, but they also dabbled in other things to raise money. Money raised paid for the building and the chicks that worked the bar and cooked the food. I got a stipend, too; under the table since I did the majority of the work around the bar.
I didn’t really get involved in the illegal shit. Teddy said he didn’t want to endanger my disability, which was essentially what I lived off of now. The injury I suffered that got me discharged had some serious nerve damage in my back and left leg, fucked it up good. So, while I would go out on group rides through the territory and act as general muscle when necessary, I stayed out of anything illegal that the club did. Outside of hitting a smoldering joint when it was passed to me.
I was satisfied with the work that I did and I steadily let go of the routine I had been clinging to. I let my hair grow out. And although I couldn’t let it get shaggy like some of these bastards did, it wasn’t the buzz cut I used to sport. Along with that I managed a respectable beard, something I enjoyed to no end. It felt good to not have to shave anymore.
As I got broken in I started collecting tattoos, an acquired taste and for the right people. One might say it became an addiction. An addiction to cover as much of my skin as I could. I looked less and less like a broken soldier and more like the hairy bear of a man that picked me up in a bar. In a nonsexual way, just to clarify.
I was doing what I could to make the club shine and keep everyone’s wheels turning. I loved every minute of it. I made sure my gratitude showed through with the work that I did. Even though the bar only serviced the Brotherhood, I made sure it stayed running better than any Navy ship.
“You ever consider getting into custom bikes?” Jimmy, a new member that was working on getting patched in asked.
He served four years in the Air force and didn’t mention what exactly he did or why he got out. For the most part he hovered around me, running for parts when I needed them and shining other member’s bikes. It took a little bit of work off my hands, but I didn’t complain.
“The fuck do I know about making custom bikes?” I had oil damn near up to my elbows as I was reassembled the engine of Wilson’s Honda. “I just do engines, man,” I paused to shoot him a look. “Remind me to knock a knot in this asshole’s head for letting his shit get this messed up.”
It got a laugh out of the kid and he shook his head, “You think you can take him? I heard he was into boxing and was a Marine. I know it’s probably been twenty years cuz he’s old as fuck, but I bet he can still beat ass. Fucker is meaner than a pitbull.”
“Probably,” I shrugged it off.
“What were you? A ranger? Green beret or some shit?” He did this occasionally, poking at me as he tried to figure out if I was worth idolizing.
“Nope,” I went back to focusing on the task at hand. I didn’t care if I disappointed him, “Just a mechanic.”
“Oh,” he sounded unimpressed, but I ignored it.
I didn’t need to impress some kid. He’d ask questions about my injuries, but there were some things you don’t ask questions about that. War stories and injuries are a few, Jimmy didn’t always get that.
A car pulled into the little lot that was in front of the bar, its driver seemed to struggle to find a parking spot before seeming to giving up and shutting off the engine. I curled a lip, it sounded like it needed some work done. When a woman stepped out of it, I wasn’t surprised in the least. Not to be sexist, but women often didn’t take care of their cars. Jimmy and I watched the little thing approach the door to the bar curiously, she held one of those thick orange envelops. She was short, at most maybe five three, and probably struggled to weigh one twenty wet. But, still she managed to have some curves on her. That ass had my undivided attention, even with her trying to hide it.
“Who the fuck is that?” Jimmy asked; she had his attention, too. “She doesn’t look like an old lady.”
No, no she didn’t. She wore a flared black skirt that hung down to her knees and a modest blouse, like she was trying too hard to cover up all her assets.
“I don’t know,”
I pushed myself up and started to saunter over to meet her. There was a light limp to my step and it was something that I would have to live with due to my wartime injuries. I took a red rag from my back pocket and made the useless effort of cleaning my hands. “Hey, Sweetcheeks,” I called out to her. I wanted her attention for a number of reasons. “You need something?”
She stopped and looked at me, green eyes opening wide behind her thick rimmed glasses and she looked struck. Like a deer caught in headlights. Her face was heart shaped with rosy cheeks and lips that I would kill to have wrapped around my dick. That’s the first place my mind went and I couldn’t fathom why. With as fucked up as my back was I didn’t frequent erections just at the sight of a pretty girl, but here ole boy was standing at attention; like fucking magic. Her mouth opened and closed as if she were mimicking a fish out of water. I waited and I felt Jimmy come up behind me to appreciate the girl as I had. Something bristled in me at that and I shot him a glare. I didn’t say it, but I was calling dibs.
“I uh,” she finally managed words. “I am… I’m looking for Theodore Tillman,” she finally got out looking afraid of the two of us. I know we’re obviously bikers, but we’re not that scary.
