Mc Biker Romance Novels & Stories

The smell of leather and engine oil and something underneath it that was just warmth, just another person close, just someone beside me on a bike on a dark road going somewhere. I pressed harder against my head. “Make it stop,” I said. My voice came out wrong. Thick and unsteady. “I know,” Marcus said. “I know. Just breathe.” “Marcus…” “Breathe. Just breathe.” A room. Small and warm. A fire somewhere. Rain on a window. Someone laughing at something I’d said, not politely, not performed, really laughing, the kind that took over your whole face and you couldn’t do anything about it.

Without another word, I stepped aside. A different male voice came over the radio speaker, this one more gravelly, "If you two are finished with your little lover's quarrel, could we get back to business? It's a no-go on Luca, but if you want to bring your pet biker, that would be much more entertaining." Her pet biker? That fucker had another thing coming.

he says quietly. I look up at him softly. “We found our way back together again.” His expression melts slightly at that. Then suddenly, Greg grins mischievously. “You know what this means, though?” I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “What?” “You’re officially biker girlfriend material now.” I snort loudly. “Oh, my God.” “It’s true.” “You’re insufferable.” “You love me.” I smile despite myself. “Unfortunately, yes.” Greg laughs before leaning down and kisses me softly beneath the warm California sun. And for once, neither of us is worried about where the road ahead will lead. Because we are finally riding it together.

I unlocked the door to the sight of a black beastly motorcycle with an equally huge biker all dressed in black riding through the gate to the mansion entrance. My breath catches. I’ve never had a thing for bikers because of their rough edges, their disregard for “proper” society, but the way he locks eyes with me through that tinted visor… the way his tattooed arm flexes as he grips the handlebars… a rush of wet heat floods between my thighs. I press them together, clit pulsing hard. What the hell is wrong with me? Last night was Simon’s twin. Now I’m getting wet because of some random hot biker?

he asked calmly, “or is it just me?” Heat crawled immediately into my face and I swear I wanted to tell him the truth: that he was simply just...too much! Too intense, too handsome, too difficult to understand. Like a damned rock! Instead, I stayed silent. Leonardo suddenly grabbed the beer can from the motorcycle seat before tossing it onto the ground carelessly and crushing it beneath his boot. I flinched, thinking I had upset him in one way or the other. He pushed himself away from the bike afterward and reached for the burger bag in my hands.

The rider slammed on the brakes, the bike sliding sideways and coming to a stop just inches from my legs. He ripped his helmet off. He had dark hair, a jagged scar near his eyebrow, and a look of pure annoyance. His leather vest had a patch: IRON GRAVE MC. "You trying to die, Princess?" he barked. "Or did you just get lost on the way to the castle?" I was shaking so hard I could barely speak. In the distance, I saw the black SUVs. Edmund’s men. "Please," I choked out, grabbing his arm. "I need to get out of here. They’re going to catch me."

“And you won’t believe what the bastard’s involved in. Or what he’s hiding in there.” I nod toward the USB. “I managed to snoop around long enough to spot a few familiar faces. Some of them will ring a bell when you see them.” I pause, watching his expression. “Does a neighbouring MC crossing into your territory and causing trouble with your businesses sound familiar?” His face darkens immediately. “So there is no neighbouring MC,” he says flatly. “That’s why it’s been such a pain to deal with them. They’re just his men.” “Ding ding,” I say cheerfully. “We have a winner.”

Only bad things bring everyone together—like death. Every time a biker dies, they all return to lay him to rest. Even the retired ones. Even those who’ve walked away. As for the Sons of Chaos MC, I don’t know much about them,just that they’re the richest biker group across the states. They own more businesses than any other MC, and they’re also the most populated. I’ve seen them fill up an entire bar before, and I once overheard Daisy and Matt saying that wasn’t even half of their members.

“Can I get you another drink?” Shaking my head, I answered her smile with one of my own. “No, I’m fine. I’m actually waiting for someone, and he’s running a little late. I was wondering if …..” The blonde’s smile cracked. Her eyes darted around at the milling people that stood laughing and joking in groups around the bar. “Don’t tell me, you hooked up with a biker last night and was hoping to run into him again tonight.” She sighed heavily. “Look, honey, I don’t want to burst your bubble but these guys.” She gave a nod that seemed to encompass the whole room. “They don’t do relationships. They don’t come back for seconds. Do yourself a favour and move on. No good has ever come from chasing a

“They say that if the pipes are loud, ongoing traffic will hear them, but the sound from the exhaust goes straight out of the back end. All it does is make them go deaf prematurely—” “And piss pedestrians off,” Brennan grumbled. As the bike approached, I tilted my head to the side, recognizing that it wasn’t a Sunday rider on the back of it. “Biker,” Conor confirmed. “No tags,” I murmured. “Does there need to be? Nearest MC to us is the Sinners,” Brennan pointed out. “He’s not wearing a cut.” I lifted my cellphone and as the biker drove by, I snapped a photo, full frontal and a real beauty, then immediately sent it to Conor, whose own cell buzzed as he received it.