Romance Biker Books Novels & Stories

I exhaled slowly, when his finger touch my cheek. “Can you take me home?” “I don’t know where your house is,” he replied. “Maybe you can give me an address… or I can take you on my bike.” My eyes widened instantly. “You have a bike?” He smirked slightly. “It’s right this way.” He led me to where an elegant, nightshade, black bike was packed. His bike was a damn beauty, and from looking at it, I could tell it cost quite a pinch. “It’s beautiful,” I said, smiling brightly as I ran my finger over the machine.

“Answer me, Rose.” “Yes.” The word hissed out of her lips, husky and warm, making me iron hard as my cock tried to get out of my pants and fuck her then and there. . . A. Gupta Check out my other books: CAGED- A Dark Billionaire Captive Romance BRIDE TO BE. TWISTED MARRIAGE - A DARK MMF Mafia Romance His Broken Princess His Steel Princess All my books are dark with anti heroes and erôtica. All books are completed!

My bullet sliced his tires open and he and his bike went flying and crashing to the other side of the road. The second biker fired at me, and the bullet shattered the driver’s side mirror. I crouched low and shot at his gas tank. His bike skidded off the road, and the next bike ran right into him. I dived back into the backseat, reaching my hand sticky with blood forward. I hit reverse and barely two seconds into the car flying backward, the bikes burst into flames. Either this road was weirdly empty on a weekend, or I was so blind with pain I was seeing differently, but there were no other cars on the road.

is all I can say, voice rough, low enough that only she can hear. Rhea tilts her head, all sultry confidence. “I didn’t know there was more to you than leather jackets and bikes,” she says, voice almost sweet—too sweet. My perfect little liar. She lets go of the chain. The sudden absence of her fingers feels like ice against my heated skin. She fixes it—trailing that same finger down my chest, following the lines of ink, watching them with the same obsessive hunger I feel every time I look at her. My breathing hitches. Just once, sharp.

🏍️ Author’s Note My dear readers, Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for taking this ride with me. When I first imagined Sable’s story, I knew I wanted to write more than a motorcycle club romance. I wanted to write about healing. About what happens after survival. About learning that love doesn’t have to hurt to be real, and that strength isn’t measured by how much pain you can endure, but by how willing you are to believe you deserve something better.

Then he kicks the engine over, the roar of his bike drowning out everything else. Evander is right beside him, leaning back on his sissy bar with a casual, predatory grace. He catches my eye and doesn't offer a glare. Instead, he winks, blowing a slow, mocking kiss that is meant only for me. It is a reminder of the cellar, a reminder that while Ronan is guarding me, Evander is the one who has tasted me. And then, with a thunderous collective roar, they are gone. A massive cloud of blue exhaust hangs in the air as fifty bikes speed out of the lot, their taillights disappearing like a trail of dying stars.

Now that was the Ty I knew and loved. "We still haven't seen him yet but if you tracked him here and that book ties in then there are only so many places around here he could be hiding out. We'll get to the bottom of it. Just one more player, he should be here..." Just then Chaz opened up the gate and a whole fucking crew of bikers came riding in. The leader dismounted off his custom made top of the line ride with his wife's name emblazoned on the side and headed for us. One smooth motherfucker this one, and the shades just tipped that shit over the edge.

VOLUME ONE: HURRICANE Tatum I jerk my head upright as the roar of a motorcycle breaks through the otherwise peaceful Bowling Green, Kentucky morning. The book on my phone's reading app is forgotten as I put a hand to my chest and cut my gaze directly across from Cash's Customs, the body shop specializing in foreign makes and models I work at. Walker's Wheels, which specializes in domestic vehicles and motorcycles, is my dad's shop, and the man leaving the parking lot is the one who pissed me off a year ago. In all honesty, he's still pissing me off. I glare at his leather-jacket covered back as he rides down the street. Pissed off because he ruined my concentration, I try not to think about

Ryder growls at his paramour. When he says nothing else, I look to find them kissing. That is an effective way to shut Sidhe up. I’ve seen Gator and Angel do the same thing to silence the lunatic. “Alright, children!” The older blonde biker's voice booms. “Wow, I cannot believe I’m related to these horny people,” the teen said with dark reddish brown comments from beside him. “Zip it, Rasmus.” An enormous Irish biker commands while putting away the drones.

The bike sped off, and the thrill was what I enjoyed most. One of the best feelings of racing with the most famous Biker in the whole city. Vladimir drove, neither of us saying a word, but his smell intoxicated my every sense, and I had to struggle not to sniff his neck. Even his clothes reeked of his scent and my senses couldn't ignore it. The bond pulled me closer to him and I gritted my teeth with anger. It's not something I have a hundred per cent control over, but I am glad he didn't mark me as other werewolves would do as soon as they discover their mate.