STAG: MC ROMANCE (Forsaken Riders MC Romance Book 7) (103 page)

8.

As they fell through Holly’s front door wrapped together in a red-hot embrace, Glider took hold of her throat and pushed her up against the wall. He kissed her neck and his stubble scratched her so gently it made her weak at the knees. He looked at her deep in the eyes, breathing heavily, and she could feel the rock-hard power between his legs. He reached down between hers and slid a hand up her dress, slowly, but with longing and need. Holly moaned as he hooked his fingers into her panties and pulled them down so he could work his hand in further and find her sex.

As his fingertips found her opening, he dipped one in slowly. She was soaking wet for him and when he pulled it out he used her own juices to massage her clit and bring her to the point of orgasm. She was holding onto him so tightly and could barely hold on any longer when he teasingly took his hand away, picked her up over his shoulder and demanded to know where the bedroom was.

He kicked her bedroom door open and threw her down on the bed. Holly lay there waiting for him, her panties torn and her legs wide open, waiting for him to unleash his immense length so she could see and feel all of him.

He pulled his vest off over his head and exposed his chest. It was completely ripped and covered in tattoos. Holly gasped as she watched him work downwards to his belt buckle. He undid it with a snap and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down to reveal the biggest, rock-hard cock she had ever seen.

He was like an animal on top of her, so powerful, strong and dominant, and she could barely control herself as he positioned his helmet at her opening and slowly slid his entire length inside of her. As she wrapped her plump legs around him and he began to fuck her at just the right pace, Holly threw her head back and screamed with delight as she came almost instantly.

Glider was like nothing she had ever known before. It was as if he knew exactly where to touch her and how… He was meant for her. Their bodies were meant to be together and she never wanted it to end.

He pumped himself in and out of her hard and fast, and just when Holly didn’t think she could handle his immense girth anymore, Glider’s body tensed, he grunted hard and he emptied his hot, delicious seed inside of her.

Holly trembled beneath him as he shot his heavy load right up into her slit. He was reaching new depths, and it felt incredible. Glider held onto her neck and kissed her gently on the lips. He was trembling too, and they were still locked together. She felt as if when he withdrew, he would take part of her with him.

“That was incredible,” he panted as he kissed her again. “It was so right.”

Holly couldn’t even speak; she was still in the throes of too much pleasure. But as Glider pulled out of her and cradled her in his arms, she knew right then and there that she had found a great love.

“I think this is meant to be,” she whispered when she finally got her breath back.

Glider turned to her and smiled. She could tell he felt just the same way. He kissed her again and wrapped his hands up in her hair.

“I’ve waited a long time to meet someone like you,” he said again. “And I’m never letting you go.”

Holly smiled and cuddled into him. The heat coming from his massive frame was intense and what she had always wanted in bed beside her. She thought back to how crazy the day had been, to waking up alone and dreading the weekend, to twelve hours later being tangled up in a mess of lust with a man like Glider. But what the craziest bit of it was, was that it
did
feel so right. It
was
meant to be.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms and slept the entire night. It had been the first time that either of them had since the death of their families. When Holly woke the next morning and looked over at him, she knew why. They had found each other and were going to start a family of their own. Two hearts had been brought together by a similar tragedy and now they were going to rebuild and help each other move on.

When Glider woke, he smiled at her and kissed her, his strong arms flexing and pulling her close.

“Do you believe in fate, Holly?” he asked her as they watched the sunrise through the open window.

“I believe in you,” she whispered as she brushed her lips across his chest. “I believe in this, right now…”

“Me too,” he said with a warm smile. “I believe in this very moment.”

The sun shone orange and gold light across the bed, and as they held each other, it felt like a message… A blessing and encouragement from somewhere beyond their reach. Holly had the distinct feeling that somewhere, someone was watching them and that they, too, knew that she and Glider were meant to be.

She touched her tummy and smiled before she looked up at him again, and he rolled with her so they were tangled up in a mess of arms and legs. As he kissed her slowly and lit up the fire in her again, Holly knew that she had finally found her true path. And she couldn’t wait to see where it was going to lead…

THE END

Katie Maddox

Copyright ©2016 by Katie Maddox. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter One

Florida, 2016

“If I see one more piece of friggin’ lace, I am simply going to hurl. And hurl good.”

Standing at the center of a lavish Victorian style sitting room, Jasmin Lawrence did have to take a moment and admire her surroundings; her bespectacled gaze perusing the room’s shining wallpaper of scarlet brocade, plush ivory carpeting, and central tables doused in reams of pure white lace and topped by a lavish setting of floral print china. Overseen by the glow of brass chandeliers and the spectacle of a hand painted mural that depicted angels in flight across a gem blue sky, the room did boast a lovely, resplendent décor was meant to promote a certain air of serenity and grace.

At this moment, however, Jasmin felt about as graceful and serene as….

Well, something that’s not very graceful or serene at all,
she mused in silence with a sigh, rolling her eyes heavenward
. I am in no mood to be witty or clever. I just want to clear out of here and grab a Big Mac.

At this point, however, the only edibles in her future took the form of those Victorian era delicacies that she would not be eating herself, but instead, would be serving to patrons at Chez Victoria, the elegant Florida area tea room where she had sought gainful employment for the past year.

Each day, she pushed a silver cast food cart that came complete with piping hot scones topped by clotted cream and jam, finger sandwiches, decorative iced fancy cakes, and, of course, tea.

Lots and lots of tea.

Didn’t those pesky Victorians ever drink anything else?
she queried silently, continuing her tortured but nonetheless cathartic internal monologue before adding, as she winced in acute discomfort
, And didn’t they ever lower themselves to the wearing of clothes that were remotely—I don’t know—wearable? Or at least comfortable?

Again, she did have to admit that her work uniform—a true to life, cream colored reproduction of a classic Victorian gown—absolutely stunned with its fitted, lace-bordered floral print bodice with a matching flowing skirt and puffed, lace-lined sleeves. The soft cotton gown served to flatter and accentuate her rubenesque curves. And when she adorned her long mane of lustrous dark hair with a smooth floral print ribbon, she did indeed feel every inch a prim and proper Victorian lady.

Cha! Got them fooled!
She smirked now, rolling her eyes heavenward
. I full well realize that this gown is infinitely preferable to my last work uniform, worn during my college days while toiling away as a head bun dresser at Cal’s Coney Heaven. Sorry, but it seems rather odd to wear a polyester Coney dog costume while one actually serves Coney dogs to perplexed looking customers. It seems almost fatalistic, to a point.

Yet, no more fatalistic, she presumed, than the everyday wearing of hoop skirts, pantaloons, not to mention those ancient mummification devices known as corsets.

Sheesh, no wonder those ladies were always ‘swooning,’
she reasoned as she felt her rib cage protract. Again.
Who can breathe and function worth a darn while wearing a blasted corset?

As she continued to use her tortured inner thoughts as a surefire distraction from the painful—or, at the very least, irritable—truth of her everyday life, Jasmin struggled to remember the time when she loved and lost herself in Victorian lore; those blissful teen-aged years when she lost herself in the novels of Jane Austen, also in the numerous filmed adaptions of her timeless books.

I was bound and determined to marry Mr. Darcy, totally ignoring the three major obstacles standing in our way, she recalled now. Number one: Mr. Darcy is a total and complete fictional character, no joke. Number two: If he was not indeed a total and complete fictional character, he would be long dead by now. Number three: Mr. Darcy is already married. And Elizabeth Bennet is just tough enough to kick my heiny—though, I am certain that, with her velvet tongue, she would come up with a far more proper term for my defeated posterior than ‘heiny’.

It was, in fact, her great love for Victorian literature that had inspired her to pursue a degree in English literature at Clearview State University, the premiere—okay, so the only—collegiate institution located in her Florida hometown.

After working her way through school via a food service job, she graduated cum laude and immediately, scored a job—in food service.

So now I know the true and full meaning of the term ‘literary irony’
, she mused, heaving a deep sigh as she wheeled her cart, with sluggish slippered steps, between endless rows of lace afflicted tables.
Now instead of asking, ‘Would you like fries with that?’ I ask customers, ‘Would you like clotted cream and chutney with that?’

Her troubled meditation was disrupted by the sudden entrance of her supervisor; a tall, slender woman with distinguished silver hair and a flowing day dress of pure blue satin, adorned with lace and sleek ruffles.

Although Jessymyn O’Reilly generally had the tendency to float into a room, she, on this day, seemed to trudge a bit as she dragged a large and rather unwieldy portrait into the main dining room of Chez Victoria.

“Can I help you with that, Jessymyn?” Jasmin queried, rushing forward to grab up the right edge of the brass bordered frame that enclosed the mysterious portrait; righting the painting as she did to take a closer look at its surface.

She froze then, and gaped outright, as she beheld the image of the most beautiful man she ever had seen.

His tall muscular frame was dressed resplendent, in a long jacket of azure jacquard, a white satin shirt with a stately high collar, and tight fitting taupe pantaloons adorned with brass buttons. The subject of this portrait boasted a chiseled face featuring carved cheekbones, a cleft chin, and eyes that shone as bright and azure as the image of the bluest sky.

This face came framed with a shoulder length mane of thick ebony hair that fell free across muscled shoulders, and came adorned with a soft, subtle upturn of his full moist lips.

“Who’s the beb?” she asked Jessymyn, all the while never tearing her gaze from the captivating man captured in the frames of the ebullient oil painting.

Jessymyn let loose with an undignified snort, rolling her eyes heavenward as she considered her most unique turn of phrase.

“The beb, for your information, is Lord Nathaniel Barrett; the man who originally made his home in this very building—or, at the very least, a reasonable facsimile,” she informed her employee. Adding with a proud smile, “A local historian is writing a book about this area and he interviewed the lovely elderly couple that owns this fine establishment. And, as it turns out, the structure of this tea room is based on the floor plan of a manor house they visited while on a trip to London. They had seen the home of a stately nobleman named Nathaniel Barrett, a widower who lived the gist of his days alone and miserable in his big old house. They thought that it would be a fitting tribute to build a house, much like his, then fill it with laughter, good food, and lots of company for his lonely spirit.”

I’d be more than pleased to provide him tons of company for his lonely spirit,
Jasmin mused in silence, saying aloud, “Well that sounds like a really nice story, Jessymyn; one that we will have to share with our customers. In the meantime, let me help you hang that portrait—maybe right over the fireplace, where everyone can see it? Me, especially?”

Soon, Jasmin found herself back at work on the floor at Chez Victoria, rushing from table to table as an endless line of customers made demands on her services.

“Could we have more tea over here?”

“Could we have more scones over here?”

“Could we have more raspberry jam over here?”

Could I have a life over here?
Jasmin felt like barking in kind return—especially at the man who apparently considered it his mission in life to get just a little bit more of that blasted raspberry jam.

“Coming, Sir.” She smiled through gritted teeth at the balding old man who visited the tearoom at least once a week; and always on the days that she was on shift. Lucky her. And to make things worse, today, he seemed unwilling to await her apparently less than timely arrival at the side of his table.  

“I’m a goin’ to that front counter myself and get my own raspberry jam,” he told his rather depressed looking wife, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else, with anyone else, at this point in time.

Swinging his feet out from under his table, he stuck his leg out in front of Jasmin’s food cart, tripping up the cart’s motion and sending several pieces of priceless floral print china flying forward off the crystalline tray that lined its top.

The server’s eyes flew wide as she lunged forward in an impulsive attempt to catch the flying flatware; her feet leaving the floor as her body soared like a rocket across the surface of the cart.

The rocket crashed unceremonious seconds later, as Jasmin’s form flattened atop the cart; her head falling forward to hit the hard brass handle that lined its northern border.

“Fab-ulous,” she muttered, feeling her eyes cross in her head as her entire world went black.