Forbidden Beauty (Coffin Cheaters Motorcycle Club) by Abriella Blake

there was some new
crest floating through the Bible belt. Might be worth a letter, at least.”
    I made a mental note. It was high time I wrote to Tati
anyways—no matter how crazy I was convinced she'd find me, the moment I started
rambling on about my new, mysterious knight. Again came that familiar pang of
longing. Everything would be easier if she'd just decided to stick around.
    He must have seen some sadness sparkling in my eyes, because
Knox took the initiative and changed the subject, quick. “Something tells me
you still haven't seen our movie,” he tutted.
    Dawn had begun to flicker on the horizon. Early morning
birds were rallying, making sound in the trees. That heavy dampness I'd always
imagined was particular to a summer morning in Florida seemed to be oozing
through the cracks in the walls. I was sweating bullets, but I didn't care.
    “I don't exactly have time for movies these days,” I yawned.
“By the way? You know, you're right. Bout what you said before.”
    “What? What did I say before?”
    “That you're a big ole, 'movie-loving softie.'”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “What kind of biker likes old Hollywood?”
    “What kind of girl rides a bike?”
    “You fucker!” I punched him again—lightly, on the shin.
    The bourbon had made me pleasantly bold. I reached for Knox's
calf and began to knead the muscles there, and for a bizarre, blissful moment
we might have been an old couple on the couch, having the same old bicker we
always had. I knew it was crazy to indulge in this kind of fantasy, but it was
as he'd said before: somehow, I couldn't not.
    “Some day, I'll show you my club. You'll see exactly
how tough I am then, kiddo.”
    “Oh, I'm so scared. ”
    “You should be,” the biker said, suddenly alert. He raised
himself onto his elbows, stared straight into my eyes. “The Knights of Styx
don't fuck around. The only women in our club are for fucking. They're our
little sweet asses, or our old ladies. They sit around all day, waiting—then
they beg for it in the evenings.”
    Against my will, I felt my spine tingle. All I could manage as
comeback was a croak: “Oh, do they?”
    “Yeah. We like to spread our girls wide, tie them up to the
four corners of the bed. Leave them writhing there, craving it, and wait until
the exact moment when they feel they can't stand it anymore. Then, we split them
open. Fuck them so hard they have to muffle their yells in the pillows. We fuck
them so hard their pussies turn raw.”
    I was breathless. Unthinkingly, my innocuous little massage
had climbed up the inside of his leg—I didn't even realize I'd been running my
fingers along the taut flesh of his inner thigh.
    “...or is that too softie for you?” When I glanced
up, Knox's eyes were full of mirth.
    “You god-damn son of a BITCH,” I shrieked, yanking a pillow
from the cushions and thwacking his wounded arm.
    “Ow! Jesus, it was only a joke!”
    “Oh, and you're so fucking funny.”
    “Why're you so twisted up?” he chortled. I continued to
pout, and Knox took survey of my profile. Then he cocked his head to one side.
“You want to get fucked like that?”
    “Will you shut up?”
    “I'm serious. You want to get fucked like that, baby?” When
I met his gaze again, his dark eyes had hardened. There was something dangerous
in them now. Wincing, he drew himself into a sitting position. We were facing
one another on the couch, our eyes—and mouths—just a few inches apart. I felt
the heat of his breath.
    “Because if you do want to get fucked like that, just say
the world. Say the word, and I'll bend you over this couch right now. I'll slap
your ass until it's sore. I'll whip my cock out, spread you wide, and fuck you
like a fuckin' animal. I'll be fast. I'll be so hard every part of you will
feel me, every part of you will curve around my dick. It will hurt.” He paused
for effect. “But then I will make your cum rain down my cock, and when you think
we're done? When you're