Toxic (Satan’s Death Riders MC #1) Read Online Sam Crescent

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Contemporary, MC, Virgin Tags Authors: Series: Satan's Death Riders MC Series by Sam Crescent
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Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
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He’d watched the older man go pale and turn into a blubbering fool. Al had even pissed himself, which of course had set Myth off laughing. They hadn’t been back to the diner since then, but Colt was tempted, to make sure Al was being a good little boy. He didn’t know why he’d even given a shit about what Al was doing. Rosalie hadn’t complained.

I’ve seen him smack her ass a couple of times. Rosalie always looks close to tears, like she wants to hurt him back, but she’s afraid. He shouldn’t give a shit if she liked it or not.

She’s my wife. And no matter what he tried to think or force himself to feel, he couldn’t help but be pissed off that a bastard had touched his woman, his property. Rosalie belonged to him.

He arrived at his home, which was several miles from the clubhouse, off the beaten track. He hoped in time he’d be able to expand it, to build his dream home, but so far, all he’d been able to do was purchase the house on a decent amount of land.

All the necessary details were in place. He had the design, which had been accepted with all the legal requirements, he just needed to get around to actually building the damn thing. So far, between the club and just life, he’d not been able to.

There was no car waiting for Rosalie in the driveway. There had been a couple of occasions Petal was in her car, reading a magazine. She never acknowledged him.

There was no Petal. No car.

He entered his home and the only sign that Rosalie was even at his place was that her sneakers had been placed on the mat, a little way off from the door. She never walked through his home in shoes. Always considerate. He didn’t even know why he hadn’t thought of that before now. It was the little things Rosalie did.

Sometimes, after he’d done what was needed, he’d go to the bathroom to clean up, and by the time he came out, Rosalie was gone, but she’d made the bed. On one occasion, she had even left a vase of flowers in the kitchen. She had cleaned out his rotten food. Carried the trash cans out, recycled. The few little things that gave it the woman’s touch, he imagined.

There had been one time she’d gotten to his home early, texted him, but he’d been too far, so she had to wait, and she’d done his laundry.

Kicking off his boots, not that he gave a shit about leaving mud trailing behind him, he made his way upstairs to where he’d find Rosalie. She sat on the bed, her fingers working over her cell phone.

The moment she saw him, she put her cell phone down and moved into position, getting to her knees. Once again, he noticed she wore a skirt. It was either a skirt or a dress, something easy for him to gain access. He actually hated this.

On one of the occasions, she had been completely bone-dry, and he’d tried to get her into it, but she’d refused his touch and just asked him to finish. That day, he’d hurt her, he knew he had, because, much to his shame, there had been blood.

He didn’t know what to do. Rosalie didn’t look at him. She knelt on the bed. Never any other position. He couldn’t see her face. He moved in behind her, glanced at her ass, and then lifted up the skirt she’d slipped on. She wore a sexy pair of lace panties. A red color that had him hungry and desperate to see her bra.

From their wedding night, he knew she wore matching lingerie sets, and it aroused him to think of her body in each of them. She had lost a little more weight. He didn’t want her to lose her curves.

Colt gritted his teeth. This was not a caring situation. They had a fucking duty. He reached for the zipper of his jeans, pulled it down, grabbed his cock, which was only half erect. With the night spent at the Evil Fuckers MC, he wasn’t exactly in the mood.

He pressed his cock to Rosalie’s entrance and felt her slick channel, but he knew it wasn’t from arousal. After he’d felt her dry and she’d told him to finish it, the next time, she’d been so slick, he had thought he aroused her. Only, after fucking her and spilling his cum into her womb and afterward going to the bathroom, did he see the tube of lubrication in his drawer, and he’d known. Since then, Rosalie used lubrication, applying it before he arrived, and it pissed him off. She never wanted him to touch her, to get her excited and into it.

This woman had been a virgin on their wedding night, and he had no doubt in his mind, she hadn’t been with anyone else. Just him. He’d have killed anyone who thought they could have her. She belonged to him. Rosalie was his.



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