Possessive Biker Romance Books Novels & Stories

Like it was built to keep people out. As we walk, I notice the others. Men scattered along the grounds, some near motorcycles parked in neat rows. The sound of an engine roars in the distance, and I turn to see a group of riders speed past the gates. Black leather jackets, helmets, the glint of chrome. My chest tightens. A biker gang. I don’t need anyone to explain it to me. The signs are all here. The mansion. The heavy security. The bikes. This client is definitely not a regular person.

THE BIKER KING CALLS Despite how dangerous the atmosphere of the room felt, dinner was… quiet. Arthur stretched subtly in his seat, looking over at the plates set neatly on the long wooden table stretching through the center of the room. A single overhead light glinted off the rim of his glass as he sipped on his wine. Slowly, he looked around at the plain walls and the men standing at the dark corners of the room. A few had their arms folded, others rested their hands behind their backs. Every time they moved, their leather jackets would lift, revealing guns tucked into waistbands and knives strapped to their thighs. None of them spoke. None moved unless Victor told them to.

But make no mistake: you do not mess with me, my brothers, or their old ladies. ​I climbed down from my bike. The house wasn't completely dead, but it was quiet for a Sunday morning. Most of my club brothers were back home with their women, though a few were definitely upstairs in the clubhouse rooms, hooking up with the club girls. Even the guys with old ladies still mess around at the clubhouse sometimes. I guess their women know exactly what they signed up for when they chose the biker life. But me? I could never imagine cheating on Ella. Once we are together, that's it. She's my only one.

His grin broadened. “I’d never lost before.” I sneered. “Okay. Get your bike, and let’s begin.” He ordered smugly. His demeanor raised my rebellious attitude. “Not until I see your partner.” “He’s here already.” He merely said, while going over to the Streetfighter. That meant the Superleggera was his partner’s. I felt his presence before I even saw him, and my heartbeat quickened. No, it couldn’t be. ‘Of course it could be, you idiot.’ I chided myself inwardly. He told me he was a biker too.

“Let’s not talk about who likes me and who doesn’t. I don’t want to talk about my life or who likes me. I don’t want anyone to like me—not even a son of a biker.” Her smile widened. “He is a biker. The twins are bikers. And their father is a retired biker. So…” “So that’s exactly the problem.” My voice dropped, tightening in my throat. “I don’t want to get involved with them. With anything or anyone related to bikes.” Her teasing vanished instantly. She read me too well. “Okay, Tessa. You won’t get involved.” “Good,” I said, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I need to go to my room. I’m tired.”

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I smiled, moving my hand back to caress his cheek as he leaned his face against mine. “She can wait her turn. You’re mine for now,” he said, as we stared at the last couple of bikers trickling in, rain dripping off their jackets and boots as they wiped their faces. The last person pulled the heavy doors shut, keeping the wind out but immediately plunging the place to near darkness. It seemed all of them had decided to come shelter here after all. “I have always been yours,” I whispered now, stroking his stubble, staring as the bikers split themselves into natural groups, hovering at corners in the settling boredom and the musty air of this old chapel for friendly chats.

He stroked faster and came hard, shooting his load across my stomach and tits, adding to the mess already there. The three of us collapsed onto the big bed, me in the middle, sandwiched warmly between my husband and the dangerous biker who had just claimed me so completely. Our bodies were tangled together, breathing heavy and slow now. The room was quiet except for our breathing and the distant sounds of the city still celebrating the new year outside.

“Seeing another woman touch what’s ours is causing you physical pain.” “He’s not ours,” I whispered back, but even as I said it I knew it wasn’t true. My body knew it wasn’t true. Every cell in me was screaming that Nathan belonged to me and another woman had no right to touch him. Or should I say Keal? Keal was in his body, that was the reason why I’m being like this right? Downstairs, Sienna’s hand was sliding up Nathan’s chest to his shoulder. She was standing so close to him now that their bodies were almost touching.

Vincent bellowed, taking a massive stride forward, his towering frame completely eclipsing mine. "Then what is it?!" I demanded, pushing my chest against his, daring him to break. "Why do you care who I dress for? Why do you care who takes me home?! Tell me, Vincent! Why?!" Vincent grabbed my upper arms, his grip tight, his entire body trembling with a force he could no longer contain. He stared down at me, the walls of his precious self-control finally crumbling into dust, leaving nothing but the raw, bleeding truth. "Because I hated seeing another man touch you," he roared, his voice cracking with an agonizing, possessive admission. "I hated it, Olise."