Petals and Chrome: A Biker Erotic Romance (Flowers of Hell MC)

BOOK: Petals and Chrome: A Biker Erotic Romance (Flowers of Hell MC)



Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

About the Author

Also by Alicia

Publisher’s Warning

Petals and Chrome
graphic sex scenes, and is definitely not for the faint of heart. This novella is a work of pure fiction, and is intended solely for mature readers, aged eighteen years above.
Do not buy if easily offended
. You have been warned…


Here I am, down on my knees, completely naked except for a tiny black thong and a scuffed up pair of trainers. My nipples have hardened from the chilly night air and I feel a shiver run through me, my pale skin prickling out in a cold sweat.

Every bloodshot eye in this dingy bar is watching me as I gaze up at the fat, hairy trucker standing before me, right there in the middle of the room, offering me his dirty, rock-hard cock.

Will anyone stop this, I wonder.

Will anyone intervene?

Will anyone save me?

I take one last, pleading look around the dimly lit bar: at the tables of truckers and bikers, all intently watching me, down on my knees like a filthy little slut, about to suck on this complete stranger’s swollen purple dick. No one makes the slightest effort to stop the sordid scene. No. They’re all enjoying themselves, licking their lips, smiles flickering across their grubby, leering faces.

I part my lips and offer him my innocent young mouth …

Chapter One

“What’s the matter, Rose?”

I sighed and looked out of the fingerprint-smudged window of our rented RV, at the dusty road whizzing past, avoiding James’s gaze.

“Nothing,” I lied. “I’m just tired …”

“Why don’t you take a nap then?” he suggested, nodding to the messy sleeping quarters at the back of our large motorhome.

“Yeah, maybe,” I mumbled, lifting myself wearily up from the breakfast nook, where we’d been playing a halfhearted game of cards, and making my way down to the bed, glad to get away from his questions. James wasn’t a fool. It wouldn’t be long before he realized how unhappy I was: with him, with everything.

As I snuggled beneath the blankets, I closed my eyes and tried not to think about our holiday so far, but it was impossible. I felt so sad and frustrated, annoyed at myself that I’d wasted all my hard-earned money on a once-in-a-lifetime road trip around America, only for it to be such a washout.

When James had first suggested the idea: saving up all our money to buy flights from England and rent an RV to explore America with Jenny and Dave, our best friends, I’d leapt at the chance. I’d always wanted to go on an adventure, and the way James had made this road trip sound, I imagined that we’d be living it up, having wild nights and crazy experiences — really
for once.

But instead?

Instead, all we’d seen was dreary, dusty highways and dingy little dive bars, filled with narrow-eyed distrusting locals who wouldn’t even give us the time of day, let alone make us feel welcome in their country.

Maybe it was our cut-glass English accents, or maybe it was our fresh-faced youth … But either way, contrary to what I’d been led to believe, it seems like these rural Americans really didn’t like us and just wanted us out of their country again at the first opportunity.

We’d hired the top-of-the-range RV for a full six weeks and so far we’d only been out on the road for two, but I was already yearning to go back home.

Also, to make matters even worse, that wasn’t even the
of why I was feeling so miserable. On top of all that, I’d begun to realize just how completely incompatible James and I were as a couple. Back in England, I’d been able to ignore it, but here, stuck in this cramped motor home with just James and his two friends, it was clear as day. I’d realized beyond doubt just
annoying and wimpy he was; how unadventurous and cowardly and thin and scrawny and nervous … After a full fourteen days of it, I was about ready to scream and tear out all my hair.

I shuffled beneath the rumpled covers, unable to get comfortable.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus my attention on the soft murmur of the RV’s engine, willing it to lull me off into sleep. But cutting through these soft soothing sounds came Jenny’s shrill, piercing laugh; another thing that had been driving me crazy over the last two weeks. She was such a bimbo, she laughed at pretty much anything.

I opened my eyes and shifted up a little in the bed, peering down the RV to the driving seat, where Dave was driving, his girlfriend Jenny sitting next to him in the passenger seat, twisting a strand of her frazzled, bleached-blonde hair around her finger and giggling at whatever joke he was making.

Then the toilet flushed and out came James, glancing moodily in my direction. I quickly closed my eyes and feigned sleep, hoping that he wasn’t going to come and get into bed with me. I peered out from between my squinted eyelids for just a second and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that he’d gone off to join Dave and Jenny at the front of the van instead.

Once again, I closed my eyes, trying to focus just on the soft hum of the engine but this time I heard something else, a louder harsher noise — something much more ominous.

It sounded like other engines, a whole swarm of them, buzzing like wasps. The noise was getting louder and louder, coming this way, and for some reason I felt a flash of excitement in my stomach as I heard the noises building into a violent growl.

I opened my eyes and shifted up once more in the bed, this time moving my face up to the back window and pulling back a corner of the blinds, peering out onto the speeding highway behind us.

Sure enough, there in the distance, coming straight towards us, was a gang of bikers, the engines of their motorcycles billowing great clouds of menacing black smoke behind them.

There were maybe ten or twelve of them, clad in pitch-black leathers, their jackets and bikes all emblazoned with some sort of red symbol that I couldn’t quite make out. It looked like a red flower, maybe … A
? Some of them wore cut-off jackets, their muscular sun-tanned arms covered in tattoos, and as the gang of bikers approached the RV, I felt the buzzing excitement and nervousness building in my stomach.

These men were so unlike James, I thought. There was absolutely nothing meek or weedy or timid about
. No, these men were truly fearless, living only for themselves and for their own pleasures. I felt simultaneously afraid and envious as I watched them, finding that I couldn’t tear my eyes off them as their bikes swarmed around the RV, overtaking it on both sides and then, with a final screech of wheels and a snarl of their engines, leaving it behind in a black billow of exhaust fumes as they raced off down the highway.

“Jesus!” Dave’s reedy voice rang out from the front of the RV. “Did you see those fucking dickheads?”

“Yeah,” James chipped in. “Tattooed wankers!”

I shifted back down in the bed, pulling the blankets over my head to muffle out the daylight. It was always so warm and sticky in the RV — none of us were used to the sweltering heat of an American summer, so unlike sunless, perpetually-overcast Bristol — and my skin was soon slicked with a thin sheen of sweat.

As I shuffled further beneath the sheets, trying to get comfortable, I found my thoughts turning once more to those bikers. I thought about their freedom and their menace, their thick muscular arms and their don’t-give-a-fuck attitudes … And as I thought about them, I found my hand slipping gently over my tingling stomach and then down, under the elasticated waist of my shorts.

As my trembling fingers slipped softly into my knickers, I noted with a muffled gasp that my pussy was already wet and gooey with my own juices, my clit was swollen and throbbing, radiating waves of pleasure around my body as I began to work it in tight little circles. I took one corner of the sheet into my mouth, biting down so hard on it that my jaw ached, the only way to muffle my pants and whimpers as I toyed with my clit and soaking wet pussy with an increasing urgency, my mind now spinning out of control with fantasies of that whole biker gang taking me at once — however the hell they wanted — taking my pussy, arse and mouth simultaneously, focussing only of their own pleasures, ravaging my tight young body, scooping my pert little titties from my vest top with their hot grubby fingers and slamming their hard dirty cocks into me from all angles until I came with a final, whimpering shudder, my teeth clenching down hard on the blanket, my legs trembling involuntarily and my fingers smeared wet from my dripping, yearning pussy.

Chapter Two

Early that evening, we pulled into the quiet, lamp-lit RV park and paid the old guy at the front cabin in advance for a single night’s stay. He squinted at us disapprovingly from over his smudged, dirty horn-rimmed glasses as we handed over our crisp clean twenty dollar bills.

“So, where you folks from?” he asked as he began counting out our change with shaky, arthritic fingers.

“Bristol,” James volunteered.

The old man looked at us blankly.

“You know? In
?” James continued.

“Is that so?” the old man mumbled, nodding to himself. His fingers looked like gnarled old branches, and wiry white hairs sprouted in patches from his thin scraggy throat, where he’d obviously forgotten to shave.

“Is there anything fun to do around here?” Julie chipped in.

“What kind of fun?” the old man said.

“I don’t know,” Dave said. “Maybe a bar or a restaurant or something?”

“Well …” he said, not looking any of us quite in the eye, his tongue moistening his thin, chapped lips before continuing, “there’s the
back about a mile down the way. But I don’t suggest you kids go down there.”

At the word roadhouse, I felt something tighten in my chest.

“Why not?” I asked eagerly, my curiosity suddenly piqued by the mention of this place.

“Well, let’s just say that they don’t take kindly to kids like
there,” the old man said, grinning for the first time since we’d stepped into his cabin, his teeth a rotten nicotine yellow color.

“Thanks for the advice,” James said, pocketing the change and leading us all back out into the muggy evening of the RV park.

“Well, I guess that’s that then?” Dave chipped in. “Another night of cards in the RV it is!”

“Let’s go to the roadhouse,” I said, freezing in my tracks.

The others all stopped walking too, and turned to face me, their eyebrows raised.

“Rose, you can’t be serious,” James said sternly. “You heard what that old guy said. It sounds really fucking

“Fine,” I said, hearing my own voice coming out of my mouth in a shaky tremble of nerves and excitement, “then don’t come with me.” I could feel my heart absolutely pounding as I spoke, realizing right there and then that I was going to go to that bar tonight, no matter what.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” James said, holding his head in his hands. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

“Deadly serious,” I snapped back. “I’ve been fucking bored all holiday, James, in case you hadn’t noticed. And tonight, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to that bar.”

I started walking, pushing past the three of them and leading the way back to the RV. I could hear them whispering behind me, Dave murmuring something in agreement with James, and Julie telling him not to worry, and that she’d have a go at trying to talk me out of it.

Fat chance!
I thought.

My mind was made up.

I was going to that roadhouse tonight and there was nothing anyone could do to stop me.


“So, you’re actually serious about this?” James asked, a little while later, after I’d had a shower and put on fresh clothes. I was dressed in a simple white cotton sundress and my scruffy old Cons, and I’d done my eyes in thick black mascara, finishing things off with a liberal amount of my deepest red lipstick. I gave myself a final pout in my compact mirror, then turned to face him.

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