Free Riders: A Biker Erotic Romance

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

 

Free Bird copyright @ 2014 by Ellen Graves. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or review
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FREE RIDERS

 

I drew back hesitantly at the
volume of the music pounding through the big oak door, then quickly reprimanded myself.
No Sabrina, you can’t quit now. Grow a pair and walk in.
I took a deep breath and smoothed down my leather jacket, regretting my last-minute purchase of a form-fitting dress as I pulled up on my neckline without letting my hemline creep up.

 

“Coming in, Sugar?” The bulked-up bouncer smiled at me. The tattoo wrapped around his right forearm marked him as a member of the Asphalt Knights.

 

My friend pushed me from behind as she whispered in my ear. “You wanted to live on the edge, Sab,” she reminded me. She was right. It was time for me to shed my good girl image and get my nose out of my books. I took a step forward.

 

“You ladies got invitations?” The bouncer asked.

 

My friend stepped in front of me and reached into her purse for our invites, handing them over without a trace of fear.

 

The bouncer looked over the shiny pieces of paper. “Melina Samuels and Sabrina Wilkens. IDs?” He winked at me when I held out my driver’s license with a trembling hand. He glanced at our IDs before handing them back and stepping aside to open the door.

 

“Welcome, ladies.”

 

I swallowed loudly and walked through the door. The wall of noise and the smell of motor oil and cigarette smoke washed over me as I took in the scene with a sigh of relief. This didn’t look like anything too out-of-control. I’d expected everyone to be carrying guns and making drug deals and a huge fight to break out without provocation. Instead, a group of men were standing around some motorcycles talking shop and a couple of pool games were going on in a corner.

 

I turned to share my observations with my friend, only to find that she had disappeared in the crowd. Drumming up some false bravado, I approached the bar and ordered my first rum and coke of the night. I laughed as the bartender flirted outrageously with me, not used to the male attention I was getting. I was pulled onto the dance floor numerous times by multiple men until I begged off, citing a need to visit the bathroom. The bartender waved me to the back of the building, saying the bathroom was on the right-hand side.

 

I wobbled away, abruptly aware of my lightweight status. I walked to the back of the room looking for a sign indicating the washroom. As I reached for the knob, a large hand gripped my wrist, making me jump.

 

“I don’t think you’re ready for what’s behind that door, doll,” a deep voice said from above me. I looked up, way up, and stared into the face of a giant. The heat emanating from his body filtered through my leather jacket and thin dress, making me wish I was wearing more clothing.

 

“I was… looking for a washroom,” I stuttered.

 

With his hand still gripping my wrist, the other arm snaked around my mid-section, pulling me closer against his body. “That’s not the washroom.”

 

“What’s behind that door?”

 

“Those are rooms for people who want a little… privacy,” he replied, and I felt myself blush at the implication. He took a step back and released his hold around my stomach, but kept his grip on my wrist. “C’mon,” he said as he pulled me behind him along the back wall, leaving a space for me to travel in his wake, to enter through another door.

 

I assumed he was taking me to the bathroom, so I froze when we entered a quiet hallway. I looked around the hallway and noticed we were alone. My heart started thumping loudly as I realized I could be raped by the looming figure that held me captive.

 

He must have seen something in my expression, because he let go of my wrist and raised his hands. “Don’t worry Doll, I won’t hurt you.”

 

I took a step back as he came forward. The back of his hand ran down my arms, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “I don’t need to force women to get them into my bed,” he whispered conspiratorially.

 

I barely heard his voice over the sound of my heart beating, so it took me a moment to react to his statement. I pushed on his chest, trying to create some space between our bodies, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. His hands left my arms and wrapped around my hips, holding me even closer. I watched him warily.

 

“Where are you taking me then?”

 

“To my bathroom.”

 

“Your… bathroom?”

 

He nodded. “I thought I’d be nice and let you use mine instead of waiting in line for the other one,” he answered coyly, “and if you feel like thanking me in some way… well, I wouldn’t say no.”

 

“I’m not going to kiss a stranger just so I can use a washroom,” I sputtered.

 

“Who said anything about kissing?” His smile widened. He tugged on my hips, pulling me off balance and causing me to wrap my hands around his massive arms to keep from faceplanting onto his chest.

 

“I thought you didn’t need to force your women,” I replied dryly.

 

He smirked. “I don’t.”

 

He lent down and brushed a kiss across my lips. Surprised, I let out a gasp, which he took as an invitation.

 

I whimpered as his sharp teeth grazed my lower lip and opened my mouth to his assault. With my compliance, his hands shifted from my hips to my nape and lower back , locking me in place as his tongue took possession.

 

My hands travelled up his arms, pushing up the sleeves of his t-shirt. My nails dug into his shoulders in response to a particularly sharp nip of his teeth on my lips, eliciting an earthy groan from him. Shifting his weight, he bent further down toward me, causing my erect nipples to rub against his broad chest.

 

I wrapped my legs around his waist, unwilling to give up the sensations shooting from my sensitive nipples to my sopping wet pussy as he lifted me up and pushed me back against the wall of the hallway. The forceful thrust of his hips and the relentless pressure of his pelvis against mine reminded me of my urgent need for a washroom.

 

I tore my mouth away from his, shaking my hair out of his fist. Undeterred, his mouth rooted under the cover of my leather jacket and latched onto the top of my breast, leaving wet marks behind. I slapped at his shoulders, pulling him out of his lustful haze. When he finally brought his eyes up to mine I gasped, “Bathroom.”

 

Panting, he slowly put me back down and took a hold of my wrist again, this time rubbing his thumb back and forth across the inside of my wrist as we walked down the hall. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to calm down my heart rate or speed it up, but whatever he was doing, I was hooked. Pulling me into a small office, he pointed to the en-suite and took a seat on the couch, apparently prepared to wait until I was done.

 

I hurried into the bathroom and quickly did my business. Looking at myself in the mirror as I washed my hands, I didn’t recognize the seductress that stood in front of me. My lips were red and swollen and my hair had come out of my carefully designed hairstyle, tumbling around my shoulders and giving me a softer look. My normally pale skin, which rarely sees sunlight due to the time I spend studying, finally had some color.

 

I was stunned by my bold behavior with a man I’d just met, and was embarrassed that I, for all intents and purposes, had my tongue down some stranger’s throat. Taking a quick look outside the door, I shyly cleared my throat and asked, “So, um, I didn’t quite catch your name.”

 

The corner of his lip curled into an amused smirk and he answered ,“James Avery.”

 

I took a slow step out of the bathroom. “Is this really your office?”

 

James sat back casually, the breadth of his body taking up most of the space on the couch. “Yes, I’m the Vice President of the club.”

 

“Oh… cool,” I said lamely. I chastised myself for my inept flirting. The copious amounts of liquid courage I’d consumed tonight had only allowed me to dance with random men and make out with a stranger. My verbal skills were still lacking.

 

With the speed of a striking cobra, James snagged me by the waist and pulled me into his lap. “And what’s your name, doll?”

 

“Sabrina,” I replied a little breathlessly.

 

“Sabrina…” he prompted.

 

I grinned slyly. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

 

He raised an eyebrow at me. “So it’s like that, is it? Well, I have ways of making you talk.” His arms became vices around my waist and pinned my arms as he peppered my face, neck, and exposed shoulders with kisses, bites, and licks. My initial giggles turned into moans and whimpers, my body becoming desperate for his touch.

 

I squirmed uncontrollably on his lap until I felt the thin material of my thong make contact with the bulge in his jeans, and I realized that the bottom of my dress was now bunched up around my waist, exposing my lower half to the open air. I froze, the good girl I’ve always been warring with the vixen I wanted to be tonight.

 

James paused at a spot just below my ear. I could feel his breath brush the base of my earlobe as he swore profusely. “What now?” he groaned.

 

“I… I’m not… It’s…” I stumbled over my words as my brain raced to make a decision. Did I want to break away from my boring, innocent life and fuck a man on a couch in the back of a motorcycle club, or should I scurry back to the dance floor, where I can hide in comfort and pretend that I’m a rebel?

 

“You’re not a virgin are you?” James asked, unable to hide his frustration and apparent aversion to associating with virgins.

 

“What? No,” I snorted. “I had a boyfriend in high school,” I said by way of explanation.

 

“Ooookay… then what’s the problem?” His fingers curled around the back of my thong, pulling sharply and making me gasp in surprise as the fabric rubbed against my clit. Decision made.

 

“Nothing,” I said while I ran my fingers through his hair. I nibbled on his scruffy jaw in an attempt to distract him. He turned his head to capture my lips in a hot, wet kiss.

 

“God, you have such a hot, sexy body,” he murmured. “So much to touch and grab onto. Every time I get my hands on your curves, I lose my mind.”

 

My hands dropped away from his hair and traveled down his arms. I stared at the plethora of intricate tattoos that made up his two sleeves.

 

“Your tattoos are so sexy.” My fingers brushed the Asphalt Knights coat of arms on his shoulder. “What do they mean?”

 

“You want to know
now
?” he asked skeptically. At my nod, he proceeded to tell me about his journey with the club, starting with the Asphalt Knights coat of arms on his shoulder and ending on his forearm with the insignia that marked him as Vice President. My fingers traced each tattoo as he described them. He then moved onto the other sleeve, which depicted his family history, starting with the Avery family crest and moving to the ink that symbolized his family, both alive and dead.

 

I was enthralled by his stories, but not enough to ignore the tugging on my thong or the warm hand caressing my butt cheek. When he used his grip on my ass to rock my swollen clit up against the ridge of his cock and the rough material of his jeans, my pussy flooded with fresh juices and I bit back the moan that threatened to escape. I caught a glimmer of his triumphant smile before he hid it behind a kiss to my left shoulder. I stumbled for words.

 

“So what happens if you leave the club?”

 

“Why would I leave the Knights?” James asked incredulously.

 

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just a question.”

 

“The Knights are my family, I would never dream of leaving them,” James said fiercely.

 

“Ok then, sorry I asked.”

 

James merely grunted, lifting me off his lap and setting me on the couch. He went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. I could hear him muttering as water ran in the sink. I took the time he was in the washroom to fix my dress and disheveled hair.

 

When he opened the door, I apologized.

 

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he grunted.

 

“Wanna dance?” he asked.

 

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