Semua Bab Her Biker Bodyguard: Bab 111 - Bab 120

Veronica.He dropped down onto his knees in front of me and the bike and began to suck at my pussy. I moaned, amazed that he kept the bike upright while eating me. I loved the feeling of the leather underneath me, his strong hands holding my hips steady, and his tongue and mouth sucking my clit. If I wasn’t as soaked as possible before, I was in that moment.I could barely think. There was only Jaguar sucking my pussy, licking my clit like an animal, ferocious and starving. He was unstoppable as he worked me, and it was driving me wild. I loved getting my pussy licked while I was sitting on a motorcycle; there was something about the power of the bike and the strength of Jaguar that really pushed me to the limit.Desire flooded through me, filling my veins. His hands held me steady, his tongue sliding inside my pussy. “Fuck I love your taste,” he grunted. “I could eat this pussy all fucking day.”“Shit Jaguar,” I said. “I can’t ever say no to you.”“Damn right you can’t.”He went back

Veronica.“How’s married life?” Leilani asked me.Mason laughed and drank his beer. I shrugged. “It’s fine,” I said. “Not real, though.”“Real enough I bet,” Mason said. “You guys been fuckin’ like rabbits?”Leilani smacked his arm. “Cut it out, you ape.”“What? I’m just askin’.”I shook my head. “No, of course not.”“Of course not?” Leilani asked. “Okay, whatever you say.”“Not like Jaguar,” Mason grumbled. “Not like him at all.”“What do you mean?”Leilani gave Mason a look. “I already told her.”“You told her that Jaguar is a manwhore?” Mason laughed. “Traitor.”“She needed to know.”“Maybe.” Mason looked at me. “Jaguar’s been in every pussy this half of Austin, maybe the whole city. Who knows?”I nodded, blushing. Thinking about him having sex with another girl made my jealousy flare like crazy, but I didn’t have any real claim over him. “It’s okay,” I said. “Doesn’t matter.”“Guess not now,” Mason said. “He never married one of them. Actually, he never saw one more than a single

Jaguar.The desert wind swept through the valley as the Sandcastles MC climbed onto our bikes.There was a roar from the devil himself as we kicked our bikes alive.We rode out in formation.We were the Sandcastles MC. Nobody fucked with us, because we were the biggest and baddest fuckers alive. We took what we wanted.But we also weren’t fucking stupid. We made deals when deals made sense. And right now, everyone knew a deal with the Snakes made sense before we ended up killing each other completely.War wasn’t over, though. The Rebels would get crushed, but somehow I knew our part in all this wasn’t over yet.As we rode back, my mind was firmly on my old lady, on Veronica. She’d be safe now. She’d be safe and we could figure out what the fuck we wanted.Although I knew what I wanted. It was the same thing I’d wanted from the start of everything, from the very moment I saw her come into the damn clubhouse that first crazy night.I wanted to claim her. I wanted to make her mine.I rod

Dolores.The breakfast settles warm in my stomach as I pull onto my street, fighting back another yawn. My bed's calling - fourteen hours of other people's emergencies have left me dreaming of my memory foam mattress and blackout curtains.My house comes into view, and my hands tighten on the steering wheel. Two Harleys are parked in my driveway. Their chrome gleams in the morning sun, both bikes obviously well-maintained despite the road dust coating them.Two men stand on my front porch like they own it. Their arms crossed over their chests. One's got a scraggly beard that needs serious maintenance, while the other's sporting a buzzcut that emphasizes a nasty scar running along his temple. No Kutte's, just black t-shirts, which is odd."What the hell?" I mutter, slowing my Jeep to a crawl.My phone sits heavy in my pocket. Dad's number is on speed dial, but something stops me from reaching for it. Club business has never shown up at my door. But Dad always told me to be prepared.Th

DoloresThe "Welcome to Cedar Grove, Texas" sign looms ahead, its faded paint catching the late afternoon sun. My fingers drum against the steering wheel as memories flood back - ice cream runs with Dad at Skip's corner store, learning to ride my first bike in the park, the exact shade of yellow he painted the front door to his house."You're gonna love the dollhouse, princess," Dad had said during one of his visits. "It's perfect for tea parties."I'd been twelve then, already too old for tea parties, but he'd insisted on buying that Victorian-style house anyway. The other club members had given him hell about it, but he'd just laughed.Main Street hasn't changed much. The same cracked sidewalks, the same mom-and-pop shops, though some names have changed. Lenny's is now Jerry's, but the awning's still that same candy-stripe pattern."Remember that time you tried to eat a whole banana split by yourself?" Dad's voice echoes in my memory. "Your mom was so mad because you had school the