Hard Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 1)

By: Lydia Pax

Hard Rider

They slid down onto the small bed in the darkness. The window was open and the cool summer night washed over their heated skin. He was tall and heavily muscled, his body built for breaking and bending. Dark ink swirled down his steel-coil arms, symbols of his heartache and his rage, meshing together in a beautiful web of sorrow and triumph. She watched the moonlight cast down his layered abs, his pecs thick and heavy like slabs of marble.

And beneath his abs...an incredible, thick, hard vision waited for her there, already glistening wet with his arousal.

Beneath this titan of masculine power, she felt slight, even girlish, for the first time in her life.

She felt vulnerable. She felt ready.

In moments he stripped her of her clothes, making her as naked as he in the pale light of the moon. He ripped her soaking wet panties to shreds, pulled at all her clothes until they came apart in his hands. Strength was so easy for him, so natural, and he wanted her so much. She could see his want for her—hard, long, pushing insistently at the underside of her thighs.

They had wanted it for so long now—even without words to describe what existed between them, they still wanted one another.

Her hands ran over his body, exploring in wonder at the muscles there, the hardness. Every inch was a new shelf of dense, strong tissue. Wet kisses from him, planted on her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, her neck, her breasts. They were gentle now...but only for now. Soon, his animalistic tendencies would take over, and he would ravage her harder than any other woman could ever dream.

Soon, his fingers would clasp hard against her breasts, squeezing roughly and holding her down while he powered into her with stroke after stroke, thrust after thrust. Soon, her torso would have a landscape of soft red marks and even a bruise or two from the urgency of his cock driving inside of her. Soon, her fingernails would scrape into his back, her teeth pinching the dense muscled flesh she had come to worship and adore.

Soon, they would sink into each other as lovers do, and forget the rest of the world.

But their world didn’t forget them. It wouldn’t forgive them. And what they had started with this sweet coital joining would tear their world apart.

Chapter 1

War was in the air, and Ram was looking to get off.

Nothing excited him more than the thought that he might have to fight soon. The best thought—his favorite thought—was that he might have to fight someone from the Black Flags, the rival club of his own Wrecking Crew. It warmed him like hard whiskey down his throat, like the heat of the summer air outside.

The war coming in made his whole body pulse with dark, vicious energy, and he needed a release.

He was with a party of his brothers, just pulling up at a road bar called The Hammerin’ Nail, a regular spot for bikers like him.

Ram was a big man, twenty-six years-old, with thick dark hair that curled just above the edges of his heavily-patched vest. He was an easy six foot five, nearing two hundred and eighty pounds of solid muscle, his arms and chest heavily inked with wild, primal tattoos.

Men got out of the way when they saw him coming. Women, the brave ones, got a whole lot closer. Sexual charisma poured out from him like the heat from a furnace.

Outlaw bikers like him often got pulled over on the road. When Ram was pulled over, the cop always called for back-up. He increased his threat level for armed lawmen just by standing up.

He strolled into the bar flanked by two of his best men, Ace and Mikhail, and their prospect Nate. Ace was always handy in bars—he staved off conflicts just by existing. Mean, lean, scary, and black, not much got through his firewall. That was largely why he got elected as the MC's Sergeant-at-Arms.

It was unusual for an outlaw MC to have a black guy in an officer's position. But Ace was a war veteran who fought in Afghanistan for more than three years, and no one was going to fuck with him. He'd gotten the name “Ace” from his fellow troops in the military because he was always the first guy to wake and the first to hop into the fray.

He was long-limbed and wiry, with nimble fingers that reminded Ram of movies he had seen about aliens. Like a lot of wiry guys, he went down hard in a fight. You had to damn near kill him. Only a few ever had actually taken him down, and Ram was one of them.

Sometimes, in the brotherhood, discipline was handed out with fists instead of a proclamation. All the brothers respected this—and being able to hand out a beating to even someone like Ace was what made Ram so highly respected, even if he'd been a fuck-up in the eyes of some as of late.

Mikhail was a childhood friend of Ram's. They grew up on opposite sides of the tracks and Mikhail had always been teased mercilessly about his wealth. Marlowe, Texas was a small town and anything to make people different was singled out and held accordingly, like a gaggle of fisherman acquiring new hooks for their tackle box.

Also By Lydia Pax

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