Motorcycle Romance Books Novels & Stories

The air is sharp against my skin, but the heat in Roman’s gaze more than makes up for it. “Keys,” he growls. I toss mine at him. He catches them, then tosses his own back. “No head start.” “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.” We move at the same time, him for my bike, me for his Ducati. The engine roars to life beneath me, the vibration sending a jolt straight to my clit. I don’t bother with a helmet. Fuck that. I want the wind, the speed, the risk. I want to feel every second of this, even if it kills me.

I can’t wait to get back to Kiana and tell her everything. When Damien steps out, the sun catches on the chrome of his motorcycle. The engraved wolf symbol gleams brightly in the light, and it somehow makes my heart flip again. We walk side by side, slower now, as if neither of us wants the moment to end. Then, without warning, his fingers slide between mine. My heart practically leaps out of my chest, but I don’t pull away. My fingers curl around his, and we keep walking until we reach his bike. He turns me gently so my back rests against the motorcycle. His other hand finds mine, linking both together, and he lifts them to his lips. When he kisses my hands, the world seems to melt away. A

He offered and handed his pill to me, bringing a bright smile to my face. "Thanks bro." I thanked him, and he winked, rushing out. That was how he saved me, but I knew it was only a matter of time before my secret would be exposed. This was a dangerous path to tread—the type that would bring disaster and death at the end. It was that type of romance that has no happy ending. I knew this, and I should stay away. The best option was to kill her and save myself from falling harder, but my powers are weak in front of her.

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Fucking hell. “You coming or what?” She asks, and I feel the heat rising up my throat. In more than one way, baby, soon, very fucking soon. I walk to my bike and straddle it as we watch and wait for Dante to straddle one. “Erm, whose bike is that?” I ask him as he starts it up. “Mine,” he says as he revs it a few times and I look at him in shock. It’s not everyday you see a man of the mafia riding a motorbike.

Prologue Anastasia Olivia, Scarlett, and I swayed to the music in the Russian Orchid, laughing and carefree. This nightclub in Moscow was a must, according to tips Scarlett received. It has been the best summer ever; it would stay with us forever. I couldn’t remember the last time all three of us felt so happy and relaxed. We were having the time of our lives. Our last hurrah before life would take us all away and back to reality. There was a young Russian singer on the stage singing, and even though we couldn’t understand a single word, the beat drove our bodies as we danced.

the movie echoed. “Your kisses feel like vocalnic eruptions on my lips” he whispered to her ears. “Your caresses feel like furrows burying in deeply until I'm shivering”. “Yesss Nate,” the girl in the movie moaned. “Fuck me harder,” she responded. Belle had always been a die hard romantic. And even though she never admits it, she was a lover girl. Just as she kept watching her movie whilst she enjoyed feeling the wind in her hair and face, she suddenly heard a loud, yet familiar voice screaming at her.

Monique's eyes matched up to Henry's as he gently curled his lips. Their eyes coming into contact so naturally with each other was just that mesmerizing. Monique's face was bright red all of a sudden and started experiencing palpitations. She quickly withdrew her hand after she got the picture book and took a deep, long breath. "The wolf and the seven little lambs."

Once the engine seemed ready, Sea—her helmet visor still open—turned to the girl standing there dumbfounded beside her, “Come on, hop on!” Ayleen swallowed hard, “Sea … I’ve never ridden a motorcycle like this before. Is … is it okay?” Her heart was already racing before she even got on. In her opinion, motorcycles like the one Sea was riding were only suitable for the racetrack. She wasn’t a fan of motorcycle or car racing, but she had once written a novel about a motorcycle racer who fell in love with a teenage girl. She had only briefly touched on the male character’s background, so she didn’t know much about motorcycle racing in detail.

“Mocha.” As Michael placed her order, he asked for a cup of Blue Mountain coffee. Realizing that he was drinking the same brand of coffee as Christina, Serena felt a pang of jealousy and hatred. Her face showed otherwise as she tried to look concerned. “You’ve lost a lot of weight, Michael.”