CULVER: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (21 page)

It began in my toes as they snapped into curls, then
danced up my legs, fiery lightning that left me flushed. It moved to my hips,
my belly, my chest and arms, and finally to my face. I looked up at Boon, mouth
open, eyes wide in disbelief at what he was making me feel. He grinned one more
time and then lifted me in his arms, simultaneously thrusting his hips into me
with renewed force, hitting me deeper than ever before. Bright red flashed in
front of me, the pressure in my tummy became unbearable, and I felt myself
breaking into seven million pieces.

“Fuck!” I cried out. “Fuck, Boon, oh God, oh fuck, I’m
cooommmmming!”

I felt my body bucking and shaking as the wave broke,
my climax taking control of me, tingling throughout my entire body like a
thousand feathers falling from the sky. My heart seemed to seize, my hips
rocking against Boon, my pussy milking his cock as it plunged deep inside me,
deeper than it had ever been before.

I dug my fingernails into his back as he supported my
full weight in his strong arms, letting my body go limp from pleasure as the
orgasm slowly faded away. He slowly lowered me back down to the hood as I
panted and moaned, my head rolling back on my neck. He slipped out of me, but I
grabbed his waist, pulling him back. Just because
I
came doesn’t mean I was done with him.

“Don’t worry, I’m not through with you,” he whispered,
leaning in close. His hands came to my waist once more and suddenly I felt
myself turned over, like a doll, onto my stomach. My feet were splayed apart on
the ground, my thighs still trembling. He pulled my dress up around my hips
once more, his hands coming to rest on my plump ass.

I moaned as his cock entered me again; he pressed
against me hard enough to force my body forward onto the hood. With two hands
on my waist, holding me in place, he began to fuck me recklessly, wantonly,
pistoning into my pussy like a stallion. I squirmed as his cock moved inside
me, so quickly I thought it must look like a blur.

My pussy was still recovering from the climax, but I
felt it springing back to life as Boon’s cock drove me into a frenzy, his
quick, rapid thrusts exciting me in a whole new way. I leaned my head against
the hood but felt a tug on my ponytail; I could have gotten whiplash from the
way he pulled my head back. His hand stayed on my ponytail, my back arching, my
legs shaking as he relentlessly drove his dick into me.

“Jesus Christ, Samantha,” I heard him grunt, then I
cried out as he slammed into me viciously, his cock spilling burst after burst
of hot cum into my still-throbbing cunt. I felt the cum massaging the walls of
my pussy as it sucked it inwards, my body seemingly hungry for his warm seed.
Finally, I felt his cock shudder once more.

Boon released my ponytail and leaned in, kissing the
back of my neck, making me shiver. He pulled out slowly, letting his cock
massage my pussy one more time before collapsing, spent, next to me on the hood
of the car. We both giggled as we clumsily rolled onto our backs and scooched
further up onto the hood.

The stars were everywhere. It seemed like there were
always stars when I was with Boon.
Maybe
he makes them,
I thought dreamily, dazedly, feeling as high as I had the
night I’d first met him. His hand reached out, looking for mine, and I took it,
feeling the warmth of his palm against mine. I wanted this. And now I could
have it. No complications, no roadblocks. Just an open night sky and a boy and
a girl and a car and all the world before us.

End
of Part 3.

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EPILOGUE

“Oh my God, Alicia, no, you can’t fucking just skip
class to drink mimosas,” I said over the phone, a smile on my face. It was no
use. She was going to do it anyway. And, really, she could.

Alicia had managed to surprise everyone – except,
possibly, Becky and I – by being really, really,
really
good at college. She had never been studious in high school,
but in the three years since then she’d shown herself to be the smartest girl
in the room time after time. After an unsuccessful semester at the Missoula
University of Technology, she’d transferred to the University of Montana and
proceeded to blow Becky and I out of the water, grade-wise.

“Don’t tell me what to do, you bitch! I’m coming, and
don’t try to talk it out of me. Mimosas with my girls beats Russian Lit any
day, baby,” she said on the other end of the phone. I turned to Becky, rolling
my eyes.

We were sitting on the balcony of our apartment; we’d
rented one together after freshman year. The three of us lived together in
relative peace: some people said living with a best friend was a sure way to
lose a best friend, but it had really only made us closer. Just then, I was
talking to Alicia after her first class of the day. Becky and I both had the
day off and were going to brunch. And now, it seemed, Alicia would be coming,
too.

“Alright, alright, I know better than to try and get
you to be responsible. Come to Bertrand’s at 1,” I said before hanging up.

“She’s skipping again?” Becky asked with a chuckle.

“I guess so. She’ll still get an A, I bet,” I said.
Becky and I hadn’t done so poorly for ourselves at college, either. I was in my
last year, graduating early. The benefit of knowing exactly what I wanted to do
the moment I started classes was that I didn’t waste any time taking random
classes, like Becky had. I was going to graduate in May with a degree in
archeology. Becky was probably going to graduate never with a degree in
nothing.

That’s an exaggeration; but, much like Alicia had
surprised everyone by being a college star, Becky had surprised everyone by
revealing her flighty side. At that time, she was majoring in biology, but
before that she’d majored in computer science, sociology, philosophy, and math.
She’d done well in all of it, but she just couldn’t seem to find what she
really wanted to do. It was okay, though; we were 21, and had all the time in
the world.

There was a thumping from inside, then the sound of
footsteps. Looking back, I smiled as Boon ambled out onto the balcony. I
reached out, stroking his bare chest, still unable to get over what a perfect
specimen of manliness he was.

“Hey, sailor, sleep okay?”

He yawned and grinned down at me.

“Perfect,” he said. “How could I not, after last
night?”

“Ugh, please, let’s not, guys. I had to
listen
to you last night, I don’t want
to hear a play-by-play the morning after,” Becky said, feigning disgust. We all
laughed. It was a subject of some contention in the apartment: whenever Boon
stayed over, no one seemed to get much sleep. I preferred staying at his place,
where he didn’t have any roommates and thicker walls, for just that reason.

“Come to brunch, baby?” I asked, looking back up at
Boon. He shook his head.

“I got that thing down in Hamilton, remember?”

“Oh, the little girl with the uncle? God, it makes me
sick. I don’t know how you deal with that all the time…”

“It’s better than what I used to deal with,” Boon
said. “And this time at least I’m the good guy.”

“You sure are,” I said, grabbing his arm and dragging
him down for a kiss.

“Dinner, though?” Boon asked, breaking away. I nodded.
“I’m gonna shower and jet, okay?”

“Good luck today,” I called after him as he
disappeared into the apartment.

“What’s in Hamilton?” Becky asked.

“This little girl was living with her shithead uncle
and he was beating her. She’s in court today so the club is going to sit in the
audience or whatever for her,” I said.

Yeah, Boon is still in a club. A new one, one he
founded, actually. But it’s a very different sort of club. The Bleeding Deacons
are getting pretty famous around the West these days, and inspiring copycat
groups.

See, Boon figured that the one thing that bikers are
pretty universally known for (being big and scary) didn’t need to be such a bad
thing. He’d been working at a garage, fixing bikes, and a customer told him
about a nephew who’d been abused by his father, and how scared the kid was.
That’s where Boon got the idea.

Now, the Bleeding Deacons visit children who are
dealing with abuse cases and protect them. There’s always a Bleeding Deacon
parked outside whatever kid’s house, making sure the abuser doesn’t come back.
They give the kids little leather jackets and go to their court cases to show
their support. They escort them around, if the guardians are okay with it. The
kids are usually scared at first, but once they realize the big, scary men are
there to
protect
them…well, you just
have to see the way they smile.

Dad would tip Boon off to child abuse cases open in
the area and the Bleeding Deacons would pay them a visit, and then the rest is
history. Boon’s apartment was absolutely littered with hand-drawn thank you
notes, doodles and scribbles, and stuffed animals gifted to him by the kids he
protected. It all just made me that more convinced that Boon would make a great
father…when we were ready.

Which I wasn’t. After the craziness that had been the
summer after high school, I’d managed to get my life pretty much back under
control. But the one thing I’d learned was that I didn’t need to be in a rush.
For anything. I could have a kid when I felt ready. Boon and I could get
married when I felt ready. Just like Becky could graduate when she felt like
it. And Alicia could…well, Alicia always
knew
that she could do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to. She didn’t
need to have a whirlwind romance and a near death experience to learn that.

It was my last year of college, and I was 21. I still
loved riding with the top down, I still loved Aunt Annie’s pretzels, and I
still loved my grandma. I still had four Miss. Teen Missoula ribbons in a box
somewhere in storage. I still had my Honda Civic, and my two best friends. And
now I had Boon. I had everything. I had all the time and all the love in the
world.

THE
END

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you enjoyed this novel, please take a minute to sign up for
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What
to read next:

REIGN

From best selling
author Meg Jackson...

In a single motion, he’d removed his leather jacket and
shirt, revealing a body that was sculpted from marble, and covered in tattoos.

REIGN

Reign is sexy, arrogant, and next in line to be president
of the Black Smoke MC. He notices Gabriella the second she steps into the biker
bar. She's curvy and beautiful — everything he likes for a one night stand. So
he buys her a drink, thinking it'll be the beginning of a fun night. But by the
morning, he feels like he needs to protect her. Because he thinks she's gotten
herself into a whole lot of trouble ...

GABRIELLA

When Gabriella comes across a duffel bag full of cash,
she knows this is her chance. She can escape her dull job and her abusive
husband. She can leave it all behind. The dead body next to the duffle bag
isn't a good sign, but she can't resist. So she hits the road ...

Contains sex and
violence. Intended for adults only.

CLICK HERE
TO GET REIGN.

Flip
the
page to start “Taken by Bikers” a free erotic novella I wrote!

It’s a standalone. Hope you enjoy it!

TAKEN BY BIKERS

~ 1 ~

“You could’ve at least dressed for the part, Sara,”
Brian said while turning down another strange, dusty street. I wasn’t sure how
he knew where he was going; he said he’d never been to this place before, but
he wasn’t even using his GPS to find it. I wondered, not for the first time,
what sorts of things Brian kept from me. Too often I’d caught him lying about
something that he didn’t need to be lying about.

“Well, I don’t exactly have a wardrobe option for
‘seedy biker bar’, you know. Unless you want to take me shopping and pay for
it,” I snapped back. I was in a bad mood. I had told Brian time and again that
I didn’t want to go. If he wanted to go out drinking, there were plenty of
college bars with loose ID-checking policies we could have been going to, but
no. He wanted to do something daring and “cool”, like go to the biker bar
outside of town.

I hoped he would keep his drinking to a minimum,
because I did not want to be driven home by my drunk, temperamental boyfriend
down these windy country roads. Who would put a bar this far out in the sticks,
anyway? People who didn’t want the cops to come, that’s who, because they’re
criminals! At least, that was my reasoning at the time.

“Well, still, you look like a goddam prep school
princess,” Brian said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he had
that part right, but so what? I
was
a
prep school princess. I looked down at my bubblegum pink t-shirt and denim
skirt. This was what my whole closet looked like! “Cute but conservative,” is
what my mother would always say when we went shopping.

“You’ve never complained about the way I look
before,” I said, pouting. I was hoping if I kept up my innocent, good girl act,
he would feel bad and stop bothering me. And it wasn’t that much of an act; I
was an innocent good girl.

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t say it, but you could
show off your body a little more. It’s so sexy, Sara, I just don’t know why you
want to hide it,” Brian said, making another seemingly random turn. I rolled my
eyes. Brian was always talking about how sexy I was, especially when he was
trying to get me to put out.

That was probably what the whole trip was about, I
thought. Get me a little drunk, maybe defend my honor from some punk, and
voila! Off go the panties, in come the penis. As if. He would be lucky to get
to feel me up over my sport bra, after the way he’d been treating me lately.

As I sat there fuming, I softened a little bit. I
knew that it was hard for Brian to date me. I didn’t think I was prudish, but I
knew that other girls were willing to go a lot farther than I was. I was
willing to let Brian touch my breasts and I was generous with hand jobs, and
even a blow job if he really went out of his way to make me feel special, but
that was it. I wanted to wait until marriage before giving up my virginity.

And I knew it was especially hard for him because I
did have a sexy body. I didn’t know much about sex, but you can’t really live
in America these days without knowing what “sexy” looked like. With my perky,
32C tits and long legs, I knew I fit the bill. I have bright green eyes and red
hair, just a few freckles, giving me a perfect, adorable Irish face. My body is
trim and toned from years of playing soccer. I’m a catch, and I didn’t have to
watch a porno to know it. So of course Brian would get upset about me not
giving it up. Who wouldn’t? Still, that didn’t excuse the way he treated me
sometimes.

We finally pulled into the parking lot of the bar.
There was no discernable sign saying the bar’s name, just some neon beer advertisements
in the windows. As Brian parked and we unbuckled and stepped out of the car, I
noticed the line of bikes parked along the side of the building. Shiny, new
motorcycles and old, battered-looking ones alike were the only vehicles in the
lot besides Brian’s SUV.

“What’s this place called again?” I asked as we
walked towards the wooden front porch.

“Della’s,” Brian said. He reached for my hand and I
allowed him to pull me under his arm. I did feel safer with Brian’s arm around
my shoulder, but I was still mad at him.

“How’d you find out about it?” I asked.

“Oh, Tony and some of the guys come here a lot,” he
said as we approached the door. I could hear loud, old school country music and
the sound of laughter and pool balls hitting each other coming from inside.
Brian took his arm away and held the door open. I wished he hadn’t taken this
moment to be chivalrous; I didn’t want to go in first.

To be honest, at this point, my emotional state was
close to panic. What were these people going to think of me? Were the men going
to bother me? Brian was strong and young, but he couldn’t really protect me if
something were to happen. What if they had guns and knives? What if they raped
me? Or, what if they just laughed at me? Somehow, that last fear was the worst.

Despite myself, I was kind of intrigued by the
dirty, low-life atmosphere the bar had. It was cool. And raunchy. And I kind of
hoped that I would be noticed, a little bit. I was surprised at myself; I’m
kind of shy and I don’t like flaunting myself or being hit on by dudes at bars.
But this was different. I stepped in and the smell of smoke and old booze
seemed to hit me in the face. Brian stepped in after me, letting the door slam.

Some of the conversation quieted as the men in the
bar turned to look at us. A few of them I saw smile and nudge each other; a few
seemed to have permanent scowls tattooed on their faces. They were all rough
looking. Some were huge, both in muscle and fat, while others were lanky with
tight, well-defined muscles popping through their vests and black t-shirts.
That seemed to be the running theme here: black vest, black t-shirt, dirty
jeans, black boots. Bandanas as far as the eye could see. A lot of them had
patches sewn onto their vests and jackets, and the words “Black Dogs” were
everywhere. I wondered if this was a gang, and that was their name.

I was surprised by how handsome some of the men
were, despite their unkempt facial hair and grimy faces. I thought a few of the
men were missing teeth as they smiled at me and Brian. I felt Brian move away
from me and grabbed his hand, following him to the bar. Conversation returned
pretty much to normal. A man standing at the jukebox hit the machine.

“Don’t ya got Hank the Third, Cumstain?” the man
yelled, looking at an older, tough-looking woman behind the bar.

“Pay for a new jukebox, we’ll get your dirty crap
music, Bull,” she snapped back, then turned back to wiping down the bar with a
rag that looked older than she did. There were three female bartenders besides
the older woman, which was funny to me considering there really weren’t enough
people in the bar to seem like they would need three bartenders.

All the bartenders were gorgeous. They all had the
same biker style, but instead of looking ragged and worn like the men, they
looked drop-dead sexy in tight leather vests, cut-off shorts, and long
high-heel boots. One had her long black hair done up in a braid with a bandana,
the other two were blondes who let their hair fall loose. They were all leaning
over the bar flirting with the men. Brian and I stood awkwardly for what felt
like forever at the bar, until one of the men pointed to us and said something
to the dark-haired bartender which made them both howl with laughter. She came
over, still giggling.

“What do you want, dolls?” She asked, drumming her
fingers against the bar impatiently.

“Two whiskey gingers, ma’am,” Brian said, ordering
for both of us. I shot him a look without even thinking about it; Brian knew I
hated drinking hard liquor. Beer didn’t taste good and made me feel bloated and
gross, but at least I had more tolerance for it. I was such a lightweight that
even two whiskey drinks could have me slurring and stumbling all over the
place. The bartender walked away without saying anything to us. We watched her
pour our drinks while talking to some of the other patrons. One of the blondes
came up behind her and made a goofy face to the men at the bar before reaching
around and playing with our bartender’s breasts, jiggling them. The bar roared
with laughter at this; I looked away, embarrassed. When I looked back, she was
just setting my drink down in front of me. Brian pulled out a twenty and left
it on the bar.

“No change,” he said with a smile. The bartender
took the twenty, rolled her eyes, and walked back to the middle of the bar. She
must have said something, because all eyes were on us again and the men at the
bar were smirking.

“Leave a good tip now, good service later,” Brian
explained to me. “Play pool, babe?” I didn’t want to play pool at all, but I
figured it couldn’t be any worse than just sitting around. I took a big drink
of my whiskey ginger, actually grateful that Brian had ordered me something
strong. I thought I probably needed a little liquid courage to get through this
ordeal.

I let Brian help me off the stool and we walked to
a pool table in the corner that was open. Brian put money in the machine and
set up the game. I stood with my pool cue, watching everything in the bar. It
wasn’t really so much different than being at one of the college bars; people
just talking and messing around, except that these were dirty bikers, not cozy
Ivy leaguers from Brown. I even kind of liked the old fashioned music, and the
smell had stopped bothering me. As I looked around, I noticed that a lot of the
men had their eyes on me. It made me nervous, but it was also a little
exciting.

I wasn’t very good at pool, and I’m still not very
good. Brian sunk four balls in his first turn. I guess I was drinking faster
than I thought I was, because by the time he finally missed my drink was empty.

“One more, babe?” Brian asked, grabbing my empty
cup. I could feel the liquor taking effect, and normally would have declined,
but it was early and it really took a lot of my nervousness away, so I nodded.
Brian went back to the bar and I studied the pool table, trying to figure out
which ball to shoot for.

“6 in the left pocket,” came a low voice from next
to me. I jumped and looked over. Somehow, without my noticing, I had attracted
company in the form of a big, muscular, older man with a black beard. He was
probably in his late 30’s and he had a scar down the side of his face. He was
huge, but not fat, just bulky. He had long, dark hair that was tied up in a bun
and blue eyes.

For a moment I was speechless out of pure surprise,
and then I was speechless because of how attractive he was. I’d never felt
attracted to anyone so much older than me, and certainly not to anyone
so…rough. His clothes were dirty, stained with dirt and mud, and his face
looked like it was etched with stories of a long, troubled life. The scar
looked old, and it somehow made his face look distinguished instead of
repulsive. Really it was his eyes, though. They were crystal clear and the way
they felt on me was like he was seeing my whole life, down to my deepest
secrets.

He was smirking slightly, and the lopsided grin was
friendly and inviting. His dark beard was shorter, giving his face just a hint
of mystery. I tried to grin back at him but my heart was pounding in my chest
and I’m sure it came out looking sheepish and silly. I blushed and grabbed my
ponytail, wanting to do something with my hand so that I wasn’t just standing
there stupidly.

My mind raced; what did I say back? Thanks?
Shouldn’t I say something smarter? Was I supposed to say anything at all? Just
as I opened my mouth to speak, Brian returned with another whiskey ginger. I
grabbed it and took a sip, still looking at the big man.

“Hey,” Brian said, seeming a little nervous.

“Just saying she should go for the 6 in the left
pocket. Think so?” the man asked Brian, half grin still on his face. Brian
looked down at the table, taking a long sip of his drink.

“Yeah, that’d be good shot, that’s what I’d do, for
sure, yeah,” Brian said, speaking too quickly. We all stood around for another
moment in awkward silence. The liquor must really have gone to my head, because
I developed a bit of courage and decided to break the tension.

“Okay, here I go!” I said, moving around the table
and setting up my shot. I leaned over, lining up my cue. Glancing up, I noticed
the stranger’s eyes on my body and felt a mixture of disgust and excitement. I
arched my back slightly, giving in to the excitement, and took my shot. It went
nowhere near the pocket I’d been aiming for, but hit one of Brian’s balls into
the corner.

“Damn!” I said, straightening up. The stranger
chuckled. Brian busied himself with chalking his cue. I could tell he was a
little nervous about the situation, but I was less nervous than ever. I had
talked to a biker guy, and nothing bad had happened! He seemed nice, in fact,
and so what if he was checking me out? It’s not like any other guy wouldn’t
have done the same.