Hard Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 1) (20 page)

Meanwhile, Mikhail produced a long chain. They took to wrapping it around the other bikes present—sliding it through handlebars, spokes of wheels, and forks—and then locking it to the bar itself with a padlock that even they didn't have the key to.

“Get
off
me!”

The cry came from inside—and it was June. Ram's blood began to boil almost immediately. If she was in trouble, he couldn't leave her in there. He slid up next to the door—not sure if it was still part of her act or not.

“Don't you
fucking
touch me,” she said again. “Get your hand off my ass!”

Her cries became less pronounced, and more clear of full, urgent worry.

Now Ram was raging.

Mikhail kicked Beretta's bike over, hot crackling boom sounds filling the air. As he did, Ram busted through the door with Mikhail directly behind him. The interior was your standard bar—neon signs and beer posters covered the walls. A cash machine in one corner. A jukebox in another. Mostly Hispanic bikers, all of them wearing Black Flag patches, gathered up into six or seven different groups.

He saw June cornered at the bar, three Black Flags trying to grope her and leave her with no place to go.

His vision went red. He picked up the nearest chair and hurled it at one of their heads. It landed with a satisfying crunch, the Flag hitting the floor with blood spilling from his skull. June kneed the nearest one in the balls and ran to Ram, ducking as he punched another Flag in the jaw and then kicked one hard in the stomach.

Mikhail, at his back, performed similarly. He had taken one of the armed guards by the neck, holding him close and ejecting the clip of his weapon. With a roar, he used his hostage to headbutt the other armed guard, creating a heavy pile as the two crashed through a table.

And Beretta was there.

Of course, Beretta was there. He saw Ram; Ram saw him—and for a moment, time stopped flowing.

What was this? Round three? Round seven? Did it matter anymore?

Beretta made a beeline for Ram. They crashed together, skulls cracking, fists pumping into each other's backs, and instantly began to grapple in a whirlwind about the bar, tearing through chairs and tables and glass.

Ram broke a bottle over Beretta's head and Beretta followed that up by slamming the back of a chair high up into Ram's gut. This swept the wind from his body, and Ram doubled over, leaving himself vulnerable. Beretta grabbed him by the throat and landed hard strikes up into his belly and ribs. If Ram hadn't been as big or as dense as he was, probably those blows would have cracked his ribs. As it was, he'd have a tough time breathing for the next few days.

With a roar, Beretta threw him through the front door—and then he grabbed Mikhail and did the same.

“Somebody grab me a fucking gun!” Beretta shouted.

It was time to go. There were too many of them. Even though Ram loved a good fight, tonight was about getting a bike, and nothing else. Ace was already gone, following orders like a good military man. Once he'd hot-wired the bike, he took off back to home base.

Throwing Ram and Mikhail out of the bar put them right next to the truck—which June had already gotten inside of and started up. She screamed for him to get inside, and he did, hopping into the bed and pulling Mikhail up with him. June's voice echoed through the night. She was screaming—but she was screaming out like a warrior, like a Valkyrie, whoops of triumph and victory.

Gunfire followed them as they raced away down the road to where Nate waited with their bikes. Nobody was hit, and quickly he and Mikhail got off from the truck and back onto their bikes. June followed them out.

Even that far away, they could hear the swears of the Black Flags as they tried to mount up on their bikes and chase after them, only to find the chain locking them in place.

Mikhail and the prospect laughed, trading looks with the binoculars.

June pressed against Ram, her hand sliding against his crotch in a way so that the other two couldn't see. Her face was flushed with victory—she'd never looked so gorgeous to him.

No woman ever had.

He needed to fuck her more than he had ever needed to do anything in his life.

“Let's get out of here,” said Ram, squeezing June's ass and barely restraining himself from taking her right then and there. “It won't take that long for them to figure out to grab some bolt cutters.”

––––––––

I
t was cool outside, for once. The temperature had dropped to the high sixties, which, while not exactly chilly, was a far cry from the usual higher eighties that the Southwest Texas weather usually held for its nighttime summer audience.

They were back at Ram's house, alone together. Ace, Mikhail, and the prospect had gone home after only a few short words—they could see the electricity between June and Ram, could see that the two young lovers needed time alone.

Now, she and Ram stood very close to one another in Ram's kitchen, each holding a beer cracked open for celebration—the job was done and they were safe. June had a hard time not pushing him back against the wall, kissing him, demanding that he shove his massive winner’s cock deep into her body.

There were all sorts of men June thought she was attracted to. For most of her life, ever since her sexuality turned on, she thought she was attracted to quiet, bookish men. The sort who could hold long discussions with her about the feminist implications of whichever piece of cinema they had seen for the night, the kind who would hold a complicated job and describe to her in detail all of its intricacies and his supreme confidence in carrying out.

An engineer, maybe, or an architect; someone with class and distinguished features in his brow and nose.

But Ram aroused her for reasons entirely different than all of that. Her attraction to him felt unstoppable, unlocked by some secret, basic portion of herself that she had never known existed. Like if a person sat down at a piano and was suddenly playing Mozart with the ease of a maestro—this is how natural, how sublime her heat for Ram felt inside her body.

He was so indefatigably masculine. Every inch of him, from head to toe, every part of his mind, knowing what he deserved for being a rock hard hunk with a huge cock and a rap sheet that read like the bullet point analysis of some action hero in a movie.

“So,” he said. “Who's Jerry? Somebody I ought to be jealous of?”

“Jerry? What Jerry?” Then she laughed. “Oh. No, I don't even
know
someone named Jerry. I just thought...I don't know. I picked it out for the way it sounds when you slur it.”

“Where did you come up with that shit?”

“I don't know,” she shrugged. “I just sort of...went with instinct. It's happening a lot lately.”

They both had stopped speaking, staring at each other with a quiet aplomb that said all it needed to about what they thought would happen. June’s gaze raked against the heavy powerful muscles of his neck and shoulders, built so tight into that broad, magnificent chest.

An intense, wanting expression filled Ram's face and he began to take off his shirt, and a piece of paper fell to the ground.

Puzzled, he picked it up and read it, raising an eyebrow as he did.

“What's that?” asked June.

He stuffed the note into his jeans. “Doesn't matter. Tell you later.”

From the sink he wet a towel and started to rub it on himself, the scratches and bruises he'd earned from the brawl and the getaway.  Now the dirt was spread around his body, the flesh glistening and darkened, and it made her mouth water.

“I really don’t know if you should have...” she began, sliding her hands up his abs.

Used a kitchen towel for that
, was the rest of that sentence, lost somewhere in the heated ether of her mind.

Oh, those abs. He
knew
what he was doing to her with those abs. As she touched them, stroked them, he flexed, and her mind felt as suddenly soggy as her panties, awash with lust. They created a perfect staircase down to his cock—that monster cock of his that she had already tasted, already felt inside of her mouth and throat.

Even
that
had been enough to fantasize about for a lifetime. To give herself more...to think that it was right there, waiting for her...

Her need was not lost on Ram. He tugged at her dress, pulling it down across her shoulders and exposing her bra beneath her breasts. Fingers, sure and easy, slipped behind the cup of her bra and tweaked at a nipple, eliciting a small moan from her mouth. She didn't resist. She didn't want to—this was everything she wanted right now.

“Bedroom,” he said. “Now.”

There was no arguing with him, no protesting. He was a
man
and she was a
woman
and this was what was going to happen.

She was a
wife
and she would be fucked stupid by her
husband
, and despite her knowing it was fake, all a sham, a charade, there was something intensely erotic about that.

It didn't matter that they weren't in love—and she still insisted lamely that she wasn't falling hard for him. It didn't matter that this was purely physical—and she still insisted inanely that she felt so much more for him.

This was going to be furious, amazing sex...and it wouldn't have to mean a thing.

Even though it meant everything.

“I want you, June,” he said, drawing her down on the bed with him. “I’ve wanted you so bad for all this time...”

She pushed him to his back and lifted herself up on top of him, straddling his hips with her thighs. Tenderly she let her pussy, veiled thinly by her fast-moistening panties, slide against his crotch and the lower expanse of his abs. Her hands slid across his chest and she moaned, biting her lips.

As if his abs weren't enough, there was that
chest
. Dense, broad, and unbreakably strong. He looked like he was formed in a factory somewhere, molded from solid steel. Her fingertips relished every inch of his skin, raking him softly with her nails.

“You’ve got me, Trouble Man.” She slowly looped upward and unhooked her bra, revealing the full expanse of her breasts to him. “So come and take me.”

With hungry eyes, he rose up and kissed her nipples, his beard sliding over the sensitive flesh there, generating small giggles from June as he worked. His mouth wrapped around one nipple, tongue probing, biting just barely enough to bring an exquisite sensation of pain next to the pleasure as it hardwired itself down to her pussy, waiting and growing wetter by the moment.

She needed him too bad not to touch herself. And she tried—but he pushed her hands away, smiling.

“That’s mine, now,” he said. “I decide when you're touched.”

And then, before she had a chance to protest, his fingers were inside of her, pressing up and inward, thick digits penetrating deep and pressing hard against that perfect spot. For several minutes, he pleased her like this, kissing her nipples and urging his fingers in and out of her tightness. Strong arms held her tight against his body, refusing to let her go—not that she would ever want him to. 

With their positioning, she could feel his cock growing harder and harder underneath her, the thick tip occasionally pushing up through his tight underwear against the cheeks of her behind.

She shifted onto one leg, greedily pulling down his underwear to reveal the full sight of his magnificent rod. Mouth watering, she watched with delight as it sprang upward, already totally hard, slickness covering its impossibly hard length. He reached down to grab it, the need to feel that pleasure clear on his face, but she slapped his hand away with a wicked grin.

“This is mine now,” she said, voice only slightly mocking. Her breaths were too heavy, too laced with the erotic air of their incumbent sex to be truly mischievous. “I decide when you're touched.”

And just like that her hand slipped around the thick pole, stroking as he continued to rhythmically slide his fingers in and out of her. Her arousal only grew and grew, watching that heavy meaty member grow slick with his essence and seeing his reaction as he hand pumped faster and faster. A lesser man would have come by now; a lesser man would have been exhausted for the whole night.

But not him. She knew already he was going to fuck her until they were both too tired to move. And knowing that, knowing what he was going to do to her, knowing he would ruin her for the rest of her life, made her want to feel his cock drive inside her needy entrance even more.

It became too much for her to bear. “Ram,” she moaned. “Please...”

She rolled her head back, hips gyrating forward onto his fingers, legs spreading wide. Everything about her advertised the need to mate, then and there, to delay no longer. He obliged her, pushing her back on the bed so he was right on top of her, cock hovering over her entrance.

“Please what?”

Oh, you brilliant hunk...Trouble Man. Pure trouble.

“Please,” she said, surprised to hear her own voice. In that private place with her new lover, she was free to become whatever she wanted—and so her words had become sultry and low, knowing. Eager. “Be inside me, please. Fuck me...husband.”

By some intuition, she knew that would get him going—the same reason that for her, being a wife got
her
motor running. It was something she never intended to be, something she felt too young to be, and so to engage with it now felt like the most serious of taboos even though it was perfectly natural.

Ram shoved inside of her wet entrance, sliding halfway in at first, then back out again. And then in, farther still, and out, over and over again with each new entry and re-entry demanding moans and cries spiraling out from her mouth.

The feeling was electric. She'd never been entered like this before. Not with so much amazing force, not with so much skill and decisive use of a man's body. The size of him made her feel filled inside—overfilled, to be honest, but it made her brain pop out of her skull. There was no part of her left that didn't feel entirely consumed by his passion as he drove into her body again and again.