Angels from Hell: A Biker Erotic Romance

by A. L. Summers

  I hear myself grunt, low and deep, as my orgasm pours through me like a cleansing wave. My body quivers ever so slightly, as I strain against the torrent of pleasure. As I relax, panting with the power of my orgasm, I feel Shep touch me again. He drags his tongue though my wetness. He attacks my womanhood, pulling and nipping with his lips. He uses his tongue like a broadsword with long powerful strokes, or a rapier, probing into all my secret places.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” I murmur, as he destroys me with his lips and tongue. I come twice more in quick succession. Each orgasm is more powerful than the last. I grasp at his hands, gripping them painfully tight. I need the contact to ground me, lest I lose myself. Shep continues to probe and tease with his tongue, pressing me. A fourth orgasm lurks just out of my reach. I strain for the orgasm, reach for it. I am desperate for the relief it will bring.

  Shep pulls one hand free of my grip and I feel him insert a finger into me. He touches my sweet spot, stroking me. He sets my nerves afire with the motion of his finger. With a soft moan I can’t contain, I crash into the most mind-numbing orgasm I have ever experienced. My body twists of its own accord. I try to roll over, my back arching painfully as I strain. Every muscle pulls against the other. Then, with an explosive expulsion of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I relax. The orgasm releases its hold on me.

  “Shep, stop. Stop,” I gasp, as I pull at him weakly. “I need a minute. Please, Shep. Jason, please.” Shep stops his probing and licking. His tongue no longer having any effect. As I lay panting, my heart slowing from its mad gallop and Shep moves over me. He settles lightly on me, kissing my lips gently. He seems willing to wait as long as necessary for me to recover my strength. I return the kiss, weakly at first. As the kiss progresses, I feel a new surge of need. “Now,” I command. “Take me now.”

  Shep pulls his hips back and probes softly until he finds my opening, then slowly enters me. We gasp together, relishing in the pleasure of our joining. I realize, as he enters me, that he is wearing no protection. Thank God I’m on the pill because there is no stopping now. My need overwhelms my good sense.

  The four orgasms have dulled the edge of my need, but the feel of Shep’s manhood moving in my wetness is still incredible. I wrap Shep up, gripping him with my legs. I pull his head into my shoulder. My hands roam his back as he fucks me.

  We move together, time coming to a stop as we give and take pleasure. I continue to hold tightly to Shep, needing to feel his closeness. A sheen of sweat forms between our bodies, lubricating our movements and only adds to the moment. I can feel another orgasm building, but it no longer matters. The joy I feel at our joining enough.

  Shep has been taking his time, his thrusts slow and firm, but as his thrusts become harder, faster, he begins to groan deep in his chest. “I’m going to come, Claire. I’m going to come,” he gasps into my neck, his breath hot as flame.

  I want him to come. I want him to come hard, to give back some of the pleasure he has given me this night. “Then, come,” I whisper into his ear as I tighten down, gripping him as tightly as I can. “Please, come.”

  Shep’s groan as he begins to drive even harder and faster into me acts like throwing gasoline on a fire. I can feel the lurking orgasm. “Please, come,” I whisper again. “Please, come with me.”

  Shep powers out of my grip, rising up onto his strong arms. I grip his arms, holding tight as he pummels me, thrusting hard and fast. I watch as his face twists into a mask of sweet agony. Then, he shudders hard with a sustained groan and his head drops.

  Watching Shep slip into his orgasm is my undoing and I feel my orgasm take me. It isn’t a mind twisting orgasm like those I had earlier. This one is softer, more comforting. It is like a warm bath on a cold night or a drink of cold water on a hot day. It is deeply satisfy in a way the others were not. As Shep settles against me with a sigh, he begins to kiss my neck. “I have wanted to make love to you since you arrived,” Shep says softly.

  His choice of words interests me. “Make love to or fuck?” I ask.

  Shep is quiet for several moments as we hold each other. Our breathing falls into sync. “At first, it was just fuck. But later, these last couple of weeks, it has become more. You’re not like any woman I have met, Claire. You’re so…strong. So very beautiful and strong.”

  I can feel my eyes fill with tears at his words, but I say nothing. We lie together for the next hour, saying little. We cuddle and kiss. I can feel a bond forming with this man. As I lie in his arms, my head on his chest, listening to his heart, I realize I don’t care about the any of the things that I once found off-putting. I look beyond the difference in our ages, beyond the tattoos and the bad-boy attitude. I can see the real Jason Shepard…and I like what I see. “You have to go,” I finally say, the very speaking of the words makes me want to cry.

  “Let me stay,” Shep says softly, as he kisses the top of my head.

  “No, you have to go. Charlie can’t know. Not until after the race. After that, come back to me. But until then…” I say, my voice trailing off.

  Shep heaves a great sigh. “I know. No distractions. It’s going to be hard to…to ignore you this next week,” Shep says softly. “To see you every night and yet not be able to touch you.”

  “I know. But we must do what we must.”

  Shep doesn’t move and I don’t either, not wanting to give up this closeness. Finally, Shep begins to disentangle himself. “Claire, I can’t tell you what this means to me,” he says sitting up. He turns to look at me, touching the side of my face.

  I touch the side of his face in return but say nothing, not trusting my voice.

  ***

  The next week passes in a blur and Charlie and Shep join me for dinner each night as we agreed. Shep and I strive to act normal around each other, but I find it difficult to not let my gaze linger on him. The desire to kiss him each night as we part is so strong that I take to telling them goodbye from the kitchen, using the mundane task of cleaning up the meal as a distraction.

  “I’m going to the race,” I announce Friday night.

  “Claire…” Charlie begins.

  “No.” I state firmly, my tone brooking no argument. “I’m going.”

  Shep and Charlie look at one another. “I’ll take care of her,” Shep says. “Don’t worry.”

  Saturday Shep arrives about six p.m. with a box. “Headphone,” he says, pulling them from the box. “So you can listen in and hear what is going on.”

  I notice that Shep isn’t wearing his Kings of Chaos jacket. It is one of the few times I have seen him without it. I take the headphones. “Thank you, Shep. For everything,” I lean in to kiss him, but he pulls back, avoiding the kiss. “Not now. Later. I have to focus.”

  I smile, but don’t press the matter. “You find me to be a distraction?” I ask as I put the headphone back in the box.

  “Claire, you are the only thing I have been able to think about all week.”

  “That’s sweet,” I say with a smile. His words giving me a warm feeling. “Tonight, I want your head in the game. Then, afterwards, I want you to bring me back here. Can you do that? Can you think about nothing but Charlie for the next eight hours?”

  Shep takes the box from me. “Let’s go,” he says, all business.

  ***

  We arrive at the “track” a little before eight. There are already a few people there. I recognize a man from the Kings of Chaos. Like Shep, he is not wearing his jacket. “Let me explain the rules,” Shep says, as we dismount his bike. “Nobody is here. You talk to nobody, unless it is business. You recognize nobody. Understood?”

  “Understood,” I say firmly.

  “Good. There are no spectators, so you will be helping me. Just stick close to me, okay?”

  “Got it,” I say.

  I help Shep set up a table. As more and more people arrive, a few of whom I recognize from the Kings, I start directing traffic as Shep instructs. I notice that there is a steady stream of bikes entering the
track. Shep explains they are checking the track for debris. As darkness descends, Shep hands me a small but very bright penlight. “Don’t shine it into anyone’s face,” Shep instructs. “We have to protect the racers’ night vision.”

  At 11, a train of bikes leave the starting line. Each bike carries a passenger, delivering the corner marshalls. At midnight, I sit with Shep at a table. We are flanked by two men with pistols prominently displayed on their hip. Each rider, wearing their helmet to protect their identity, steps to the table. They hand Shep the entry fee. He carefully counts the cash then gives me a nod. I offer a fish bowl with twenty five dog tags inside. Each has a number embossed on it. The rider selects a tag and hands it to me. I write the number on a whiteboard with a start time before handing the tag back to the rider.

  At 12:45, Shep calls all the riders together. Loudly and slowly, he counts the money and places it in a box. He attaches three padlocks to the box and hands a key to each of the armed men. He pockets the third.

  As men and women begin to arrange the bikes, the night is full of the sound of shrieking, highly tuned engines. Shep puts his headphone on and picks up a clipboard with a light and stopwatch on it. I don my headphones.

  “Charlie. Shep. You copy?” I hear in my headphones.

  “Copy Shep,” Charlie’s voice comes back.

  “What’s your position?” Shep asks.

  “23.”

  Shep quickly scans the list. “Good news buddy. You’re last.”

  “Roger that,” Charlie says, his voice cool.

  Shep leans over and speaks into my ear. “At least we’ll know what we have to do to win.”

  I nod, but say nothing.

  At exactly one am, the first rider is sent off in a shriek of sound and light, the powerful headlamp of the motorcycle splitting the night.

  Every two minutes another bike is sent wailing into the night. I become so excited that I can’t stand still, shifting from foot to foot.

  Shep and I are on the common frequency, listening to the times being called back from the finish line. Shep marks the times on the clipboard. All the times, so far, are in the low eight minute range. Then, a time is called back that makes my heart sink. 7:55:146. I remembered the 7:56 track record, the fastest Charlie has ever gone. My blood runs cold.

  “Fuck,” Shep mutters.

  “Tell him,” I say.

  “No. He doesn’t want to know.”

  “Tell him!” I say firmly.

  When Shep makes no move, I key my mic. “Charlie. This is Claire.”

  “What is it Claire,” Charlie’s annoyed voice comes back.

  “Charlie. Number thirteen just turned in a 7:55:146,” I say. “I just want to tell you that…I’m proud of you. Mom and Dad would be proud of you. I want you to go out there and kick his fucking ass!”

  Charlie is quite for a moment, then chuckles. “Understood.”

  Shep and I wait as the rest of the riders have their go. When Charlie rolls to the line, it is clear the 7:55 time is going to be the one to beat. The minute Charlie rockets away, the bike up in a small wheelie, Shep starts the clock running. For the first two minutes nothing is said, then Charlie’s voice. “Corkscrew.”

  “Even,” Shep says.

  “Possum,” Charlie says a moment later.

  “Up one.”

  “Bridge.”

  “Even,” Shep says, looking at me. “He’s not fast enough.”

  Before I can think of anything to say, “Slider,” Charlie’s voice says.

  “Down one,” Shep replies again. “He’s not going to make it. He’s almost a full second behind the leader.”

  “Tell him,” I say quietly.

  “I just did,” Shep says in annoyance.

  “Charlie,” I say quietly, keying the mic again. “You’re losing. You’re going to have to push.” I click the mic off, having nothing else to say.

  I see Shep suddenly fidget. “He missed a call.”

  “He’s fine,” I say.

  I see there are three more marks on Shep’s paper, places where he has been filling in times. Shep fills none of them in. We watch as the stopwatch passes 7:55. Shep stops the watch and we wait. “Rider 23…7:54:997,” the timer’s voice squawks in our ears.

  Shep and I look at each other in stunned silence. I smile and take the clipboard. I drop it to the ground before molding myself to Shep as we kiss.

  Shep and I have just broken our kiss when a bike rolls to a stop. Shep and I move to the pay table. Shep waits until the rider steps forward to present his tag. Beside each number on the whiteboard there is now an elapsed time. The last rider to arrive walks up. He removes his helmet and Charlie’s sweaty face emerges, split into a huge smile.

  Charlie pumps his fist into the air. He pulls the dog tag from around his neck and hands it to Shep. Shep compares the number on the tag to the numbers on the board. He makes a big show out of checking the elapsed times, before handing the tag first to one armed man, then the other. The men perform the same ritual, then hand the tag back to Shep. Then, the three men produce their keys and unlock the box. Shep, slowly and loudly, counts the money. He places it back in the envelope and hands it to Charlie. The two armed men step from behind the table and stand on either side of Charlie. It is clear that robbing him would require the robber take care of them first.

  ***

  It takes two hours for Shep and the rest of the staff to breakdown the equipment and get everything loaded into the two trucks. Charlie left hours ago under guard. As the last truck leaves, it is just Shep and I standing alone in the darkness.

  “What should we do now?” Shep asks.

  “Aren’t you going to take me home?” I ask.

  “Of course. But then what?”

  “Then…you can buy me breakfast. But not too early.”

  Shep smiles and lowers his lips to mine. “Anything the lady wants.”