Size Queen: A Motorcycle Club Biker Romance (Size Matters Book 3)

by S. C. Adams

  “Oh boy.” I laugh nervously. That came outta nowhere.

  “Like you, I’m okay with the truth, whatever it is,” says Noelle.

  “Well, the truth might really scare you.”

  “Why, do you have an STD?”

  “No,” I say, slightly insulted. “It’s… well, let me ask you something first.”

  “Okay…”

  “Whenever we’re together, you know,” I stammer. “Like—is it only about the physical release? If we weren’t having sex, would you not want to talk to me?”

  “I… no offense, Damon, but I must say, I’m taken aback again. I’ve never heard these questions from a man. Usually I’m the one asking them, or someone I know is. No, I like you a lot. I just… the gang stuff—”

  “I understand,” I say quickly. “I don’t want you to constantly be uncomfortable around me. No worries at all.”

  “Damon, how do you feel about me?”

  I gulp, licking my lips and stalling to try and get the words just right. Nothing feels right, so I go with my gut.

  “I’m crazy about you,” I tell her.

  Her eyes widen and her mouth is agape. I can’t tell if it’s good or bad yet.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” I continue. “I wanted our nights together to last so much longer than just that one week. I crave more, and I want you back in my bed again. I want to be in your bed again.”

  She remains frozen in place.

  “I get tired of most girls, and I eventually get tired and restless no matter who it is or what kind of history we’ve got,” I say. “With you, I only want more. What do you suppose that could be?”

  “Obsession?” She giggles nervously.

  “Perhaps,” I say. “Or, maybe I really like you and I think we’ve got something really good going on here that we shouldn’t let die.”

  “Oh my,” she gasps.

  “I’ve never felt the way I do about another woman in bed,” I continue. “We go really well together. I think we look pretty good together, too.”

  “I don’t look good at all right now,” she groans.

  “You look as beautiful as you always do. If you weren’t feeling ill, I would make love to you right here on this kitchen table.”

  She takes another bite of soup, turning red from the heat of the meal or the comment, I’m not sure.

  “I’ve come on too strong, haven’t I?”

  “No!” she says. “Not at all… I guess I’m just feeling overwhelmed by it all.”

  “How do you feel about me?” I ask. “I mean… okay, I’m in charge of a biker gang, but I do have a kind soul, right? Is there no way a woman like you could fall for a man like me?”

  She slides her bowl and crackers away from her.

  “Let me flip it around and ask you this,” says Noelle. “If we weren’t having sex as often as we have been, would you not want to see me or talk to me as often?”

  “Quite the opposite.” I reach for her hand across the table. “We don’t need to have sex to have a good time. It’s really fucking nice… but I actually really enjoy spending time with you.”

  “I enjoy spending time with you, too,” she says while stroking my arms up and down. “I just don’t want you to think I’m some gold-digging biker slut or something. I’ve been coming over a lot because I think the sex we have together is fantastic, and I think it would be a waste to let our talents go to waste.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” I scoot my chair closer to hers. “It was those talents that brought us closer together.”

  “Yes,” she agrees while leaning closer to me.

  “If you think we’re moving too slow, I can cool my jets,” I tell her. “My desire for you will last for far longer than you probably bargained for.”

  She puts her hand on my pants leg, stroking it up and down, getting close to the growing bulge in the center.

  “How are you always so hard for me…?” she wonders.

  “If I knew the answer to that, I might be able to concentrate on something other than you,” I say while I run my hands up her bare legs. “As it is, I find myself thinking about you during all points of the day. I don’t get anything done anymore.”

  “That’s a shame,” she says, scooting close enough that I can taste her.

  Things are heating up, and it’s not from any sickness. The slow pull makes the desire all the more palpable.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you with your distractions?” she asks.

  “You can let me make love to you once again,” I say, leaning in now. “You can’t deny our passion. You can’t deny the fact that we go too well together to let go to waste, right?”

  Although her eyes stay locked with mine, her hands find my bulge. I suspect that I may get to have her even more than once more…

  16

  Noelle

  He’s standing so close to me. He chuckles to himself, not mischievously or humorously, but nervously. That’s so unlike him; he’s never nervous around me—or anyone, for that matter—yet I can practically see his heart beating through his chest. I can hear the rapid rhythm underneath his ribs, and I reach out to feel it.

  I roam over his firm pecs, searching for his heartbeat and enjoying his impressive body. He caresses my chest, not in a bluntly sexual way, but as if he, too, is searching for a heartbeat. Mine is going exceptionally fast for a number of reasons. I’m not just in the presence of a powerful man who is proving to be the exception to every rule I’ve made about men… I’m looking into the eyes of the father of my child. There’s an added tension that’s out of my control.

  We find each other’s respective heartbeats, more connected than ever before. If he feels me trembling, he keeps it to himself. I want him to speak—to melt me with his words like he always does—but he remains quiet, and the only sounds in the apartment are the sounds of our beating hearts, deep breathing, and subtle moaning.

  The waiting only serves to charge us, our libidos now in overdrive… It’s too intense.

  “Sleep with me…” I beg.

  “All you had to do was ask,” says Damon.

  We kiss, savoring it for long minutes. Something else protrudes from his body, and I wish that I could feel it delicately enter me… I’m so wet for him, growing more soaked the longer we kiss. His facial hair brushes lightly against my face, serving as a spectacular reminder of the ride I’m in for. I’m never fully prepared for him, because I’m not used to a real man like him.

  He takes me to my room, carrying me easily over his shoulders. It feels slightly odd for me to be so compromised in my own home, but I love the way he takes control. I run my hands down his back, pulling out a simultaneous chuckle and growl from my sexy animal. He is eager but not rushing. He has a plan for me, and I’m powerless to resist it. I am all his.

  We cross through the doorway into my bedroom, the final destination. I flip the switch by the door, ensuring that all of the lights in the room are off.

  “I want to see you,” Damon tells me, agitated.

  “I just want you to fuck me.”

  We keep the bedroom door open, letting in a hint of light to guide our way. He lays me on my bed, not hesitating before unbuttoning my blouse and removing my pants. He strips me down entirely, saving my drenched panties for last. I keep my legs slightly in the air, spread open for him, inviting him to use me in whatever ways would please him the most.

  He kisses along my feet and legs, slowly removing his own clothes as he does so. I can see him growing in his boxers, filling up space and stretching the fabric of his undergarments.

  I decide to help him and sit up and crawl over to him. I slide his boxers off, exposing his meaty branch to me. Licking my lips, I take hold of it and stroke it up and down, making sure to get every inch of his skin and tip. I stare at his meat, enjoying the sight of his precum squirting from the tip. I like using his early ejaculate as an added lube. I’m careful not to tug him too aggressively—I want him to last for a while.

>   I tempt fate and lick his tip. He shudders to my touch.

  “I just wanted a taste…” I say quietly, like I’m embarrassed.

  “You can do more than just taste it,” he says while rubbing the back of my head. I take a deep breath, licking my lips again, preparing for my snack.

  At first, I’m in control. I lick and suck his cock with glee, moaning each time I feel him hit the back of my throat. He pulls on my hair, using it to control the speed and force of the blowjob. Within moments, I am no longer giving him oral; he is fucking my face, and I love it.

  He reaches down to play with my tits while I suck his throbbing dick. He just barely fondles and pinches them, but it is enough to knock me back.

  My nipples had started becoming incredibly sensitive when I discovered I was pregnant, and their sensitivity only intensifies as the pregnancy progresses.

  He pulls his cock out of my mouth and falls to his knees so that we’re level again. He takes my right breast in both hands and begins to lightly suck on my nipple. Reacting, I get a firm grip on the back of his head and really tug on his hair.

  He looks up at me. I think I might have pulled too hard, but his sucking is too much. I don’t have the candor to tell him that my nipples are extra sensitive. I don’t want to leave any room for him to infer or even joke about it.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I reply quietly. “Put your dick inside me, baby…”

  He inserts his fingers inside of me first, fitting both of them all the way in. I can hear his fingers going in and out of me without having to look. I’m not just more sensitive than usual; I’m also much wetter. This he notices.

  “You’re so fucking wet,” he says with satisfaction.

  “It’s all because of you…”

  The feeling of his fingers exploring me is enough to make me collapse. I lie on my back like before, giving him easier access.

  He finally gives me what I want and plunges his hard dick deep, but slowly, inside my warm walls. I yell in carnal bliss—part pleasure, part pain—ecstatic from the way his dick feels against my aching cunt.

  “God—you’re so damn tight, girl!” he cries enthusiastically.

  I’m grateful that he doesn’t comment on the unorthodox amount of moisture and sensitivity and decides to just enjoy himself. His face, always indescribably sexy when in the throes of ecstasy, softens slightly while still retaining his aggression and raw form.

  “So fucking wet and tight…” he murmurs. “What did I do to deserve this?”

  If only you knew…

  He grabs on to both of my breasts again, playing with them as they bounce with our movements. He twists on my nipples, fucking me faster with each moan I let out. It’s the strangest thing—I want to let him know how my chest feels, but through all the pain there is still such joy. I can’t bear to let it stop even for a second.

  I’m about to cum, as is he, but what sends me over the edge and breaks my dam is his passionate kissing. He leaves soft, wet kisses on my lips, my cheeks, my ears, and especially my neck… I rock and flail whenever he tenderizes certain spots on my neck. Whenever he plays with my tits and kisses and licks my neck…? Suffice to say, I’m achieving too many climaxes to count.

  He fucks me hard enough that we combust and release together. I can feel his juices mixing with mine, and I’m beyond exhausted.

  We lie together in bed, holding each other, breathing heavily, and still trying to relax after our full session. My tits are numb, my pussy is filled, and we are both utterly spent.

  I can’t tell the time, but I know it’s late. It’s pitch-black, without a hint of moonlight to be seen. At times, I wonder if his heavy breathing is from sleep, but I’m afraid to turn around and face him to find out, fearing I might accidentally wake him.

  I want to fall asleep desperately. As the night slowly morphs into the very early morning, I begin to anticipate what the light of day will bring—not just in terms of the sun, but my newly routine sick spells. Just thinking about getting sick again is enough to make me start to feel sick in reality.

  Since I’m lying in bed, I’m able to get comfortable enough to try and soothe the savage beast that is my tummy. I know that if I could just fall asleep and beat my stomach by default, I wouldn’t have to leap out of bed and likely wake up Damon.

  To avoid thinking about getting sick, I try thinking of anything else. But with Damon’s arms wrapped around my belly and his body pressed against me, I can’t think of anything else but the pregnancy.

  I wonder what he’ll say when I can finally summon the courage to tell him? I don’t want to do this alone—and this feels so good… Does this feel right because it is right or because I’m afraid of raising a child alone?

  I can’t fucking believe I let this happen…

  I’m unable to control myself any longer. I start to cry, the tears falling down my face, and I hope I don’t start sobbing. I don’t know what’s going to happen, so I take my chances and maneuver myself out of bed as covertly as possible without stirring him from his slumber.

  I successfully make it out from under the covers and out of the bed. As I make my way to the bathroom, I feel not only the wetness from my eyes, but also in between my thighs. I can feel his cream filling overflowing out of my cunt. It feels like he’s given me every ounce of cum he had stored in his full balls.

  I pick up the pace, feeling on the verge of completely breaking down. I rush into the bathroom and unintentionally close the door loudly behind me. This error only serves to break me even further. Somehow, I know he’s going to wake up, and I know he’s going to try to talk with me. I lock the door, thinking that will somehow prevent me from having to explain myself.

  I sit near the toilet, just in case. I cry into a towel, suppressing my sobs as best as possible. I can’t stop myself from crying—I’ve been holding it back for days, and it’s time for me to let go and succumb.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting on the bathroom floor, but eventually I hear a light knocking on the door.

  “Noelle?” Damon says from the other side of the door.

  I rub my face in the towel, trying hopelessly to compose myself.

  “Noelle, you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I reply.

  “I just… you’ve been in there a while, and I was just making sure everything was fine,” he adds. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing… Do you need to use the bathroom?”

  “No, I just—wanted to know what was going on,” he stuttees. “You can talk to me, you know…”

  I believe more and more that he must have heard me crying. This thankfully gets me to put a stopper on it, but that doesn’t make me want to unlock the door and face him.

  “I’ll be okay.” I sniff. “I just… I want to be alone for a little while.”

  I think maybe he’s gone back to bed, but I can still see his shadow from underneath the door. I want to leave the bathroom and hug the sheets and pillows against me until I feel like it’s okay to leave my home. In that moment, I want to be completely and totally alone.

  “Are you still there?” I ask softly.

  “Yeah,” he answers. “Noelle…”

  “Actually,” I snap, “do you think you could just go?”

  “Back to bed?”

  “No. Do you think you could head out for the night, maybe?” I wonder. “Please…? It’s not you, I promise.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Damon, please,” I beg shamelessly. “Please just go… I’ll talk to you soon, I promise. Please.”

  I expect to hear him resist again or say a farewell of some kind. I’m not sure when, but he eventually honors my request and leaves. I hate having to dismiss him so callously, but nothing else matters to me right now.

  I go back to my bed, alone. I remain unable to fall asleep, and I waste the night away with thoughts of the man I just sent away and the baby that’s cooking in the oven with both of our DNAs.

  17


  Damon

  Monday morning comes rolling in, and I’m in a vicious mood. I haven’t slept much over the last couple of days. I have a lot on my mind, and it’s apparent to many of my Rolling Heads that I’m not to be fucked with on this particular day.

  Between altercations with a rival gang, police interference, unbelievably low sales numbers at the shop, and now having to deal with Noelle ghosting me yet again, it’s been remarkably frustrating and exhausting. Kace and the guys keep suggesting that I try to get some sleep—even if just for thirty minutes—but I can’t. No matter how consistently I try, my brain stays too active for my own good.

  I’ve never been able to fully understand women, but just when I think I’ve started to comprehend their intricacies, I’m always thrown a curveball. I hate admitting it, but I’m aware of what’s keeping me awake. I’ve had “girl drama,” before, and I’ve had girls recount about how they’d spent hours thinking about me. It didn’t make sense to me before, and it makes even less sense to me now.

  I miss her. I actually miss her. The idea of losing my own clubhouse in a fire is less of a worry than even the thought of losing her. The concept of a gang war is trivial to me when I imagine not seeing her again and being able to hold her in my arms. Nothing else matters.

  My boys are getting worried. Seeing their fearless leader worn-out, frustrated, bitter, and antsy is something I should have spared them, but I can’t care. It’s hot outside—where the nosy cops and mongoloid Snakes are slithering about—and we’re all sticking together. We aren’t going to get picked off one by one; if anyone wants a fight, they would have to face us all.

  I step outside to try and get a hold of Noelle. I call her and it rings, but she doesn’t answer. I hang up and try again less than a minute later. She doesn’t answer again, and I decide not to push my luck. I’m not going to be “that guy.”

  I do hit her up again, though, this time through text. Hey missy. You free today?

  She doesn’t reply right away, but my heart skips a beat when I see her name appear on my phone screen.