Secret Baby for the Bikers Read Online Stephanie Brother

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Erotic, MC, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
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He starts gently, but I want him to take me. To use me like the others did. “Harder,” I whisper.

Bear chuckles, a rumble deep in his cavernous chest, then he braces against the bed. Hovering over me in an effortless plank, he gives me what I asked for. His thrusts go harder, driving me up the bed, little by little. I’m absolutely stuffed full as his balls slap against my ass, and there isn't any part of me left wanting.

I trace my fingers over his sides and through his chest hair. Every hard thrust makes my breasts wobble and my breathing catch. The primal smells of sex and sweat permeate the room. Bear's powerful muscles flex over me as he looks down on me. I must be a mess, but the burning heat in his gaze holds nothing but appreciation. A mess is exactly what they were aiming for.

Unbelievably, a third orgasm is building. I don't know if I'll get there in time, but that doesn't stop my pussy from tingling or my toes from curling. I close my eyes, and suddenly both of my nipples are enveloped in moist heat. Viking and Snark are there, sucking on one each. Bear reaches down to flick my clit while he fucks me, and the impossible becomes reality.

For the third time, I come, and this time it nearly hurts as it gets pulled from the depths of my aching, well-fucked body. I arch my back and scream, the sound echoing in the room as I drown in rough pleasure that has me whimpering when I fall back down on the bed. Bear stuffs every thick inch inside me and comes with a monstrous bellow.

For a long moment, we stare past each other, breathing hard and lost in our own bliss. When we refocus, he grins and kisses my nose before pulling out so slowly it's a sensuous agony in itself. The bed creaks as he flops down beside me, with Viking on one side and Snark on the other. Now I understand why this bed is so big.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. Now that I have a moment to think about what I've done, the insanity of it hits me. I let out a little crazed giggle. Four guys at once. Bikers. If my family ever finds out, I can't even imagine what will happen.

“Not too fucking bad, huh?” says Viking, a wide smile splitting his beard. My gaze slides over his cut torso only to find him hardening up and stroking himself lazily. He sees where I'm looking, and the surprise that's probably written plain as day all over my face. He laughs. “What? You didn't think we were done? I haven't fucked you yet.”

Holy crap.

3

VIKING

SEVENTEEN MONTHS LATER.

Nothing like the wind blowing in my hair and my wheels eating asphalt, with my boys at my side. Hawk to my left, his black machine rumbling like a goddamn monster; Snark to my right, his deep blue chopper purring like a lion, and behind me, as always, Bear on the massive bike he had custom built for his size, covering our six. The sun's shining and the engines echo off the buildings as we cruise through the city. This shit is exactly what we were fucking born to do.

They call us the Cleanup Crew, but the four of us do more than tie off loose ends. We make sure there are none to begin with, and today, that means we make sure Eagle-eye, our club prez, doesn't come to a messy end. Or if he does, they'll at least have to come through us first.

Eagle-eye has the lead. He might be gray in the hair and long in the tooth, but he sits straight-backed and confident on his classic that's older than I am. He raises one arm and indicates we should slow and turn in. It feels fucking wrong riding straight into enemy territory. King, Blade and Ripper ride in tight formation with him, with us right behind.

The familiar weight of my gun is comforting in my belt.

The Giordano Tower looms over us, a monster of chrome and steel that dwarfs the other buildings in the neighborhood. For the Mob, business is always good. Not that the Screaming Eagles don't have their own resources, but Jesus Christ on a fucking moped, I can't imagine how much this has to cost. Still, richer than us doesn't mean they're fucking better. For all their resources, they've never managed to push us out of South Side. They can be cruel and vicious, but they don't have heart like we do.

Massive, ornate gates open to let us into the front courtyard. They have the family monogram etched into them, making them look decorative, but there's no hiding the thick steel underneath. We ride through, our engines echoing off the walls, and pull right up to the wide stairs that lead up to massive glass doors. Fancy entry, but it has shit for motorcycle parking.



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