Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Dario's got no real hold on you, you know. Don't let him keep you from having fun.”
“You tell him that.”
“Fine, whatever.” She smacks me on the butt and I lurch a half step forwards. “Then let's go and celebrate. It’s time to find a biker to fuck you so hard you forget everything and can't walk in the morning.”
“Jeeze, how long have you been practicing talking like that? You fit right in here.” Loud voices, laughing and heavy metal waits for us through the door.
She laughs. “Thank you! Basically my entire life.” Then she takes the first step into the biker clubhouse.
Whatever chaos I expected, it's nothing compared to reality. Music thunders loud enough to make both the floor and my insides vibrate, covering an undertone of male voices and the occasional feminine shriek of glee. The air reeks of beer, sweat and leather. With so many people, it's hot enough that I'm glad I decided to leave my jacket at home.
The large common room is packed to its limit and to get inside we have to squeeze through a group of massive men who don't exactly seem eager to move aside. It takes all of two steps before someone squeezes my ass, though I don't know who, and Bea's surprised yelp followed by her tinkling laugh makes it obvious it wasn’t just me.
Sure, we have parties in the Family, but I’ve never been invited to anything more wild than business luncheons or political galas. This is the exact opposite. There's no organization, no etiquette, no rules. It has adrenaline running through me like I just chugged a six pack of energy drinks.
We pop out of the crowd into a small oasis somewhere in the middle, giving me a chance to straighten my shirt. I went with a miniskirt, but a long-sleeved blouse with the buttons left open far enough to be only slightly more modest than Bea's tube top. My boobs are too big to get away with things that look awesome on her perkier duo.
She looks around like a kid in a candy shop. “Oh my God, I've never seen so much sexy testosterone in one place. Why haven't we done this before?”
“Because they're as likely to kill us as fuck us if they find out who we are?” She's not wrong, though. All this wildness is kinda hot.
“No way.” She laughs and points. “Look over there.”
I follow her finger, then look away just as fast. I'm no prude, but no matter how slutty I thought I looked, I barely qualify for the amateur league in this crowd. A woman, maybe a couple of years older than me, is completely naked except for a pair of knee-high leather boots. Beneath her, on a couch by the wall, is a biker twice her size, his jeans down below his knees and she’s riding him for all that she's worth. I'm probably imagining that I can actually hear the sounds of it from all the way over here, but then again, maybe not.
“Holy shit. I've heard stories about biker parties, but this is…” I trail off, unsure of how to describe it right.
And as we watch, another guy moves right up to them, putting his crotch on level with her face before he whips himself out. She doesn't miss a beat, sucking him in and bouncing between the two guys like they've rehearsed it.
Holy shit.
And no one even seems to care! Over by a wall, a couple are making out like they're trying to swallow each other whole, but at least they have their clothes on. Mostly. Though his hand is looking pretty busy up her shirt.
“This is amazing!” exclaims Bea, then looks around again at the guys surrounding us. “I want a slice of what they're having.”
I've always had a rebellious streak, but some days I forget exactly how unrestrained Bea can be. But in spite of that, it's not her shoulder that gets tapped first, it's mine.
I swivel to find a broad-chested, shirtless biker, grinning down crookedly at me. His thick, blond beard has little braids woven into it, and his chest and arms are covered by bold, runic tattoos. He's freaking ripped. The six-pack that dives into his jeans looks rock hard, and a dusting of soft hairs show a path right down to the promised land under his belt. And from the impressive bulge in his pants, that's a whole lot of land.
Just the sight of him has me flushing with heat—in my face, and down below, and from his smug expression, he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Hi,” is all I manage to squeak out.
He puts a finger under my chin and tips my face up to his. His skin burns hot as a brand against mine. “Never saw you here before. You're hot as fuck.” The words are matter-of-fact, like the only logical conclusion to this interaction is me in his bed with him on top of me.