Rough to Ride
Authors: Justine Elvira
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Romantic, #Romance, #Contemporary
Rough To Ride
Justine Elvira
Edited by: Eileen Proksch
©2014 Justine Elvira
All rights reserved. This book contains material under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any Unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.
Cover image used under license from shutterstock.com
Table of Contents
Note to My Readers:
I started writing Rough To Ride over a year ago. It was originally intended to be my attempt at a full-length biker novel, but after writing an extremely hot scene I realized my heart wasn't in the story. I loved what I had already written, but writing the biker genre is not for me. It needs to be left to the genius minds of my favorite biker authors.
After I stopped writing, several weeks went by and all I could think about was one specific scene I wrote and how much I loved it. Could I use it in another book? No. In my mind it was meant only for these characters. So what should I do? Well, I polished it up, added a little backstory, and decided to release it as a short, erotic story.
Rough to Ride isn't a full-length biker novel. You aren't going to get a love story, or an MC story with a beginning, middle, and end. This is a short story. 10,000+ words of a hot, sexy biker, and the woman he meets stranded on the road. It's sexy, lustful, and HOT. It's the fifteen-minute quickie every woman needs. So get on the back of Maverick's bike, and join him and Trixie on their sexy encounter.
Rough To Ride
Change.
Change is inevitable. It happens every day, whether we notice it or not. Some people like change. They embrace it with every ounce of their being and never look back. Others hide from it, hoping if they pretend not to notice they can live in their perfect bubble of denial, pretending the world around them is exactly the way it was the day before.
I choose to embrace it. Hell, I welcome it. I love the extraordinary life I've been blessed with, but doing the same thing day in and day out has never appealed to me. I want something different. I need the spark back. I need the feeling of adrenaline running through my veins at the thought of something new happening. I don't know if I need a new job, a new adventure, new friends, or a raging party. I just need something different.
In this town it's rare that someone doesn't recognize me for who I am, and actually treats me how they want to. It's been eight years since I got in my last bar fight, and it isn't because I haven't tried. It's just that everyone knows who the hell I am and stays away.
My man?
My man is the most amazing person in my life, but even our relationship isn't perfect. Every day is a different version of the same shit. I didn't grow up expecting to be a woman with no career who waits on her husband hand and foot, but that's who I am. I help with the business, cook, clean, and at night we fuck. The fucking is what gets me through the day. Just knowing he's going to take care of my needs, after a day of taking care of his needs, makes my pussy throb in anticipation. I'm usually wet before he even walks in the door.
Our sex is explosive. The only way I can explain it is it's like the fireworks on the Fourth of July with Santa handing out presents, while I'm blowing out my birthday candles and everyone is celebrating me. It's that fantastic. As great as it is, even we need to mix it up. There are only so many ways a person can have sex, so you have to be creative and experiment a bit. I love him with all my heart, but even I can tell when he's losing interest. Men are visual, and if you don't give them what they want, they might go out and find someone new. God knows he has enough women waiting around the corner until I fuck up big enough and he goes looking for new pussy.
Now, I'm not an insecure woman. I have a banging body, long, toned legs, curves to die for, and I know how to make my man happy, but even I've noticed the difference in the last month. He used to always have his hands on me. If we were in the same room together, his hands were touching a body part of mine. It was usually my ass or my tits, but sometimes it was my inner thigh, or the nape of my neck, or a caress of my cheek. In the last month he's barely touched me. I'm usually the first to touch him now in hopes it will turn him on, but I usually get nothing.
I know he's not screwing around on me, but it's only a matter of time before I catch him with some nineteen-year-old, bleached hair bimbo trash, fucking him and sucking his cock while I'm forced to not say anything.
Well, fuck that.
Something needs to change because I refuse to be that woman who lets her man sleep around on her. He won't be bringing other women into our bed behind my back.
My man's been gone a week. That's an entire week after almost a month of obvious distance in our relationship. Distance. That's something he and I have never had to deal with before. Sure, I've dealt with physical distance, but not the emotional distance.
That's why I've decided to embrace change. I took the first step to making a change today. To liven things up a little, and then my car's engine started to sputter and now I'm stranded on the side of the road, desert on both sides of me, and not a car in sight.
I hit my hands against the steering wheel repetitively. I'd just gotten this damn car fixed two weeks ago, so I expected it to run in better condition.
“Damn it!” I yell, slamming my fist against the dashboard.
I get out of the car to assess my surroundings. I’m in the middle of nowhere. The long stretch of road is surrounded by miles and miles of desert. There isn’t a human being in sight. I haven’t seen another car in the past fifteen minutes and the sign I passed a few miles ago said the next town was still a good distance away.
It’s the middle of July and hot as hell. I can feel the little trickles of sweat running down the middle of my back. My car doesn’t have air conditioning, so luckily I'm dressed for this weather. I’m wearing a white, thin, strapless, cotton sundress that barely covers my natural d-cups. It's form fitting and hugs my curves perfectly, resting mid thigh. The dress looks good against my tan skin and makes my blue eyes stand out. I have a pair of wedge sandals on my feet and my dirty blonde hair is down and slightly wavy against my back.
The car door swings open as I crawl inside and search for my cell phone that fell on the ground about twenty miles back. I find it under the passenger seat and pull it out to call for help. I'm clicking on the home screen button to get my phone off sleep mode, but nothing happens.
“Motherfucker!”
The battery's dead.
I throw the phone against the seat and slam the car door shut. What am I going to do now?
The gravel crunches underneath my shoes as I pace on the side of the road, kicking the rocks as I turn. I don’t know what to do. I have no way to contact anyone and it would be stupid to search for help on foot in this kind of heat. Although I'm not far from home, I’d be dead in a few hours. Plopping myself up on the hood of my car, I decide to wait it out. Hopefully, someone will come by and offer to give me a ride so I’m not stranded.
After twenty minutes go by without any sign of life, I'm getting worried. Drops of sweat are forming on my skin from the sun beating down on me. My throat's parched and I lick my lips to keep moisture on them before the delicate skin starts to chap. I drag my hands to the bottom of my dress and hitch it up until it's resting just below the apex of my thighs. I'm trying to cool my body down, hoping to get some kind of relief from this excruciating desert heat.
It's hopeless. No one is coming.
Just as I'm about to get off the hood of my car and start walking, I hear the purr of an engine coming from down the road.
I adjust my body to see if my ears are playing tricks on me. In the distance I can see a small shadow coming my way. The soft purr gets louder and louder until I can hear the roar of a motorcycle engine. My heart starts to race in excitement, hopefully I’m going to get picked up.
Now I'm not going to sugar coat it. I have a thing for men and their bikes. You could call it a sexual fantasy of mine, but I have always gotten wet for a man on a bike. It could be the desire of having something hard, hot, and heavy between my thighs. It's about the hottest thing a woman like me can handle.
I sit up and turn my body towards the road. My legs are hanging over the hood of my car and I quickly check to make sure my skirt is hiked up as far as it can go without showing my goodies. I need to expose as much of my legs as possible. Luckily, my white dress is already doing its job and helping me rock my curves. The top of my tits are exposed and glistening with drops of sweat, putting them gloriously on display. It looks like I oiled them up and am waiting for a good groping. Inwardly I'm ecstatic because I know this will draw the man's attention. I push my thumb out in front of me and wait, hoping he will stop.
As the bike gets closer, it slows down until the man behind my newest daydream pulls up in front of my car and stops. I can only see the back of him, but what a back it is. He's straddling his Harley with his jean-covered legs. He's shirtless with only his cut covering his muscular back. His arms come off the handles and I watch his hand drag through his long, light brown hair. He stands and lifts a leg up and over the bike to get off. I'm mesmerized by his actions. I've never seen a more beautiful man.
His perfectly sculpted arms reach into his cut and pull out a pack of smokes. He's quick to light one up as his eyes land on me. I watch as his eyes casually assault my body, starting at the base of my legs, spending extra time on my inner thighs, and then my tits. When his eyes reach mine, he slowly grins at me before taking another drag of his cigarette.
I'm a statue. I'm a fucking statue who can't seem to peel her ass off the hood of her car. It's not entirely my fault though. The ripples of his chest, the flexing of his bicep as he brings the nicotine stick to his lips, the low dip of his jeans as I imagine what is waiting for me just a few inches below. It's all very distracting.
His tan skin and the slight wrinkles near his eyes have me guessing he's in his late thirties. I like older men. I'm twenty-eight and have been with an older man for the last eight years. Let me tell you... older men are where it's at. They have enough experience in the bedroom to know how to get a woman off, and more importantly, they want to. These young men think they know how to get a woman hot, but the reality is they're in too much of a rush. They think if they spend a few minutes on you, then it justifies a quick bang. I don't know about you, but I need more than a few minutes. I like my foreplay to last in the double digits. Give me twenty minutes of a man's hands caressing me, his mouth sucking me off, and his fingers rubbing and pinching my nipples, clit, and g-spot, then I'll let him fuck me however he wants.
I watch the sexy man in front of me as he flicks his cigarette out into the middle of the road. When I bring my eyes back to him, I notice the black leather boots he's wearing on his feet as he slowly walks over to me.
Should I get up? Or should I keep my ass planted on the hood of the car?
I'm not kidding anyone. There is no way I'm moving. His rippled chest of perfection is coming my way and I want to enjoy the view. I don’t want to continue to distract myself with stupid ideas like getting off the hood of my car.
My hands come down to rest on my upper thighs as I smile in his direction. That's another thing I know I have going for me. I’ve been told my smile makes men weak in the knees. I’ve witnessed many men succumb to it. It's how I’ve gotten so many of Johnny's friends to do what I need them to do. I smile and they come running.
The man walks over with such sex appeal and confidence, standing right in front of me. His hands rest down on my thighs as he pushes them apart, moving his hips between them. The move sends a shock wave through my body and I'm feeling light-headed from his touch.
What would Johnny say right now? He'd hate it if he knew that a man was turning me on like this; that I'm intoxicated just by his presence. Well, Johnny's not here and I'm done playing things safe. I need a change, and so does Johnny. I woke up deciding to embrace change today, and that's what I'm going to do.
