Biker's Bride (Demons MC)

“Fuck, girl,” he grunted. “You’re going to make me come in my pants.”

I gasped as he kissed my neck and moved faster. I could feel something building inside me, building faster and faster. I was so young back then, I had no clue what was happening.

But as he felt my breasts and kissed my neck, it began to crest.

“Fuck, Caralee,” he grunted. “I’ve been thinking about fucking this pussy nice and deep for a long time,” he said.

“Oh wow. Shit,” I gasped.

I kept moving my hips, and he grabbed my ass, pushing me against him harder. His lips felt incredible against mine, against my neck, his hands firm on my hips and my ass, feeling my breasts.

I could barely control myself. I knew that I was just grinding my soaked pussy against his hard cock, knew that it shouldn’t have felt so good, but it did. I’d never really done anything like that before, and the excitement of the night, plus Ford’s overwhelming attraction, all made it build and build.

My whole body tensed as an incredibly explosive pleasure moved through me in a wave.

“Oh fuck, Ford,” I moaned. “Oh my god.”

“Keep moving, girl,” he grunted in my ear. “Keep moving those hips.”

It exploded through me, blinding my mind, filling me with only pleasure, pleasure, Ford and pleasure.

It was my first orgasm.

“Oh my god,” I said after it finally ended. He kissed me softly, grinning.

“You liked that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“You just got off for me. You know that right?”

“Really?” I said, surprised.

He laughed, his asshole grin enormous. “Never had an orgasm before? Those pussy boys you hang out with aren’t getting you off?”

“No,” I said, blushing. “It’s not like that with them.”

He laughed again, kissing my neck. “You got a lot to learn, Caralee.”

In that moment, there was so much possibility.

I couldn’t wait for him to teach me.

Chapter Six: Ford

I woke up early, a hangover headache tingling my skull, to the morning sunlight streaming in through my living room window.

What the fuck did I do last night? I thought to myself as I sat up.

And then it all came rushing back: Caralee showing up, her story, the look on her face, the way my body reacted to seeing her again.

The way I claimed her in front of the whole damn club.

Damn girl was trouble. I sat up, grunting, and walked into the kitchen. I put on some coffee and leaned up against the counter.

The whole thing was fucked. I didn’t much care about the guys that were after her. I’d dealt with plenty of fucking biker cunts in my time, left more than a few blood-stained and splattered on the road under my wheels. I could protect her no problem, and I actually looked forward to it.

I wanted another fucking war. I wanted some fight, some excitement to break up the boring as fuck club business. I wasn’t built for peace, never was.

I had a reputation in the club, and for good reason. Nobody loved to fight and fuck as much as I did.

No, the real fucking problem was the claim. I hadn’t thought it through at the time, and now in the sober light of the morning, the full truth of that was finally hitting me.

I’d had no other choice. I had to claim the girl or else risk letting Clutch and Spoil throw her ass out. I couldn’t let that happen, not when I knew her, not when I still remembered the girl she used to be.

“Morning.”

I turned my head and saw her leaning in the bedroom doorway, arms crossed, wearing one of my sweatshirts.

“Morning,” I grunted. “Who said you could wear that?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t seem to matter.”

“Coffee’s on. You cook?”

“I can cook, yeah.”

“Make us some breakfast then.”

I poured myself a mug and sat down at the table, watching her. She stared back at me for a second before walking into the kitchen, opening up the refrigerator, and getting to work.

Soon the little house was full of the smell of cooking bacon and eggs. I watched her work, curious about how the fuck she’d fallen in with an idiot biker like her dead friend. From what I remembered, Caralee was a good girl, a college girl. She’d gotten out of town, far away from her drunk asshole dad. She had made it.

And yet she had still somehow fallen in with the wrong people. Now she was in my kitchen cooking me breakfast, but she probably had no clue how much trouble she was in.

I was that trouble. I watched her body move and felt a stirring again, my cock getting hard. I wanted to bend her over the damn table, fuck her rough and deep, make her beg me to keep going, make her come. Maybe she owed me that, in some ways. But I wasn’t the type to just take a girl like that, not like some of the fucking sick shitheads I knew.