Hard Rider

He thrust forward and pulled on my hips at the same time, splitting me in a single thrust, my cry swallowed by his mouth once more. Burying himself inside me, taking my mouth and my pussy at the same time, owning my body like only he could, Cross filled me to the brim.

My thighs clenched around his waist, toes hooking at his knees, keeping him as close as I could while he began to pump. He started pushing against me with his body, until we were almost laying on the kitchen table, the poor thing wobbling under the weight of our passion.

Each inch he lowered me drove him deeper, and he went faster, and harder, until he was driving himself into me like a stallion, his lips never releasing mine. My body twisted, beautiful torture as my climax built inside me, a forest fire sparking in my veins. He leaned back just enough to claim my lower lip in his teeth, tugging gently while driving himself against my womb.

“Come with me,” he growled, his pace increasing, his teeth gritting together. Our eyes met, and for one impossibly long moment, we were suspended in perfect ecstasy. And then he bottomed out inside me, plunging against my deepest being and releasing, the first burst of his cum driving me over the edge. I cried his name for the millionth time as he brought me crashing upwards, defying gravity, filling me with everything he had and knowing I could take it.

Every high has its comedown, but coming down in Cross’ arms was sweeter than sin. Until he slid out of me, we stayed lodged together, my thighs shaking so bad the table shook with them. It was a toss-up whether or not I’d be able to stand up at all. Luckily, my man was strong enough to carry me, and he did just that, collapsing us both onto the couch.

There was too much to say, between us. So much so that for a long time we didn’t say anything at all. I can’t tell you what Cross was thinking. But I was thinking about all the things that had tried to keep us apart. I was thinking about Dutch and Jase and Sylvia and even that Tiffany broad. I was thinking about Helena, Arkansas, and the beat-down house there, the one I’d never go back to. I was thinking about orange bottles that rattled when you picked them up. And I was thinking about futures. All the thousands of possible futures. The happy ones, mostly, but the sad ones and the frightening ones, too.

Who was to say fate was done dealing us hurdles?

Who was to say we hadn’t even faced the worst of it yet?

Cross cut off every thought in my head with his lips, planting tight against my temple.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured. And then, like the mind-reader I’ve come to suspect he is, he said: “We got a whole new world in front of us, you know. Let’s walk into it lookin’ for the best, alright?”

“Alright, Cross,” I said, sighing as I leaned back against him. “I can do that. Always look for the best.”

He was right, though. Things would happen the way they did. All you can do is look for the best of those things, and then hold onto them fiercely.

Cross reached onto the coffee table, where his phone lay, and picked it up. I watched him dial, getting a little incredulous. Who the hell could he possibly be calling at a time like this?

“Yeah, I’d like to place an order for delivery,” he said, winking down at me. “Large pizza, garlic knots, and an order of eggplant parm.”

I don’t profess to know much about men and the way they work, but I do know this: any man still eager to kiss you after a whole mess of garlic knots is worth a second chance.

Six months…

It wasn’t quite a ribbon cutting ceremony, but it came close enough. There were broken bottles – though not of champagne. And knives were present, but they weren’t used for any sort of ceremonial purpose. The Dead Crusaders celebrated the re-opening of their clubhouse, finally restored six months after the fire, with a kegger fit to rival any Friday night at a frat house.

Strippers and lollipops, prospects and patched members, ol’ ladies and porn stars, all rubbed elbows (and threw the occasional punch) in a raucous, roof-shaking bash that threatened to tear the house down again. Half the neighborhood showed up, hang-arounds and business associates coming to pay tribute to the Crusader’s spectacular recovery. All brought their share of liquor, drugs, and food, until the clubhouse was stocked enough to last three years.

Six months. Everything had changed in six months. With Dutch and half the club gone, dead or exiled to parts unknown, Blade and Cross felt like they were starting from scratch. But, to their surprise, they found themselves swimming in prospects.

Apparently, the way Blade and his crew had taken back their club from their own conniving president made for a compelling story, and it had spread far outside of Cutter. Men of all ages wanted to see what these guys were all about, if they lived up to the hype.

And cut in half or not, the Dead Crusaders always lived up to the hype. You only needed to watch Porky, with his gnarled face and painful limp, down half a bottle of Jack and then disappear into a backroom with an 18-year-old stripper to know that these were the kind of men who could teach you a thing or two about living life to its fullest. And it wasn’t just booze and boobs; it was the loyalty, the understanding, the brotherhood that can only be born from the worst of circumstances.

“We’re gonna need a cleaning service,” Blade observed, standing at Cross’ side as they watched the party unfold in violent, brilliant technicolor. A man passing by with a club mama on his arm grabbed Cross’ hand and shook it; Cross had no damn idea who the guy was, but he looked happy as a pig in shit.

“We’re gonna need a biblical flood,” Cross snorted, shaking his head. His attention drifted towards the back of the house, the double-doors opening onto to the new deck they’d added to the original frame.

“Go check on her,” Blade said with a grin, slapping Cross on the back, where his patch now read Vice President. “I’ll keep an eye on everything in here.”

“Well, where the hell is Eagle? That’s his job now,” Cross said, referring to their new Sergeant-at-Arms. Blade shook his head and pointed to the bar, where Eagle was taking a body shot off some bimbo with fake tits. Cross sighed. Eagle had a lot of learning to do about what his new role entailed. And Cross was the only one who could teach him. It was slow going, but Cross was up to the task.

Let Eagle have his fun tonight. There were hired guns at the door, vetting everyone who came and went. The Crusaders took less chances these days. No one had heard from Dutch since he left, but there was no telling if he had any designs on coming back.

If he did, though, he’d be burned at the stake before he could say boo.

Cross told Blade he’d be back soon, and headed towards the back doors, into the dwindling daylight.

While the party raged inside, Bex lounged on a plastic chair with a pina colada in her hand and her aching feet up on a stool. Away from the smoke and the noise. Someplace she could sit and chat with the other ol’ ladies, or the girls who hoped to become one someday. A place where her swollen belly (and the swollen ankles that came with it) wouldn’t be a burden, where the child growing inside her wouldn’t be exposed to secondhand smoke, or suffer from vertigo from the swaying, pushing, brawling, screaming crowd.

Every fifteen minutes or so, Cross appeared behind her chair, hands rubbing her shoulders, offering to make her another virgin drink, showing off the pride in his smile and in his eyes. They were having a little girl. Cross had already sworn to shoot any boy or man who came near her. Bex had already reminded him what she felt about men who tried to turn women into princesses, locked in high towers. It was something they argued about, regularly. One of the only things, in fact.

Now, as the sun started setting, Cross came up behind her once more, took her hand, and kissed the ring he’d fixed there some months before. Of course, they’d been hitched in the club’s eyes ever since she donned his Property Of patch. But the law required more signatures. The wedding hadn’t been beautiful, but it had been wild. And Bex wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“We can head home pretty soon,” Cross promised, whispering into her ear

, bending down to lean his stubbled chin on her shoulder. Home was different now; the one-bedroom apartment was finally too small for their growing family, so they’d upgraded to a nice little house, not too far from Blade. It even had a fence.

“We can stay as long as you want to, baby,” she said, patting her belly. “She ain’t in any rush, and neither am I.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got some things I’d like to do that wouldn’t be appropriate in mixed company,” he whispered, throwing a chill down her spine. Bex was amazed that her swollen belly didn’t seem to turn Cross off at all; instead, he seemed to want her even more, if that was possible. And she was right; there had never been anything sexier to Cross than seeing Bex with his baby girl in her stomach, her love for him and their blooming family glowing out of her pores, making her damn near angelic.

And Bex sure didn’t mind. Pregnancy hormones were pretty wild. She was tired a lot, and the heartburn was murder, and her feet and ankles and joints all ached. She hated the stretchmarks. She hated peeing all the time. She wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world.

Cross kissed her cheek, his stubble scratching her skin. She met his eyes, blue as ever, blue as the wide Missouri sky. Two cat’s eye marbles, all for her, always for her. Just like her eyes, rolling green fields, were only for him. There was no questioning any of the love between Bex and Cross DuFrane. It wasn’t in the ring around her finger. It wasn’t in the Property Of patch. It wasn’t in the tidy little house, and it wasn’t in the white picket fence.

It was in the eyes. It was all in the eyes. All Bex had to do was look in his eyes, and she knew she was home, right where she belonged. The way it always had been, and always would be.

Hey everybody, Nikki and Meg here! We just want to thank you for reading Hard Rider, and we hope you LOVED it! As a special way of showing our gratitude, Nikki wants to share a bit of bonus content. Turn the page because we’ve included a few sexy bestselling romance novels from Nikki Wild, including one novel that you can only find as a bonus.

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