Hello dear friends! Today I’m sharing my passion for bikes and motorheads. There’s something soooo sexy about a man who can fix things. Find one of these men willing to help a gal around her broken-down engine and you never have to worry about being stranded on the interstate or charging a huge car repair bill to your credit card!
I love to look at bikes. Sleek steel, each outfitted to reflect the owner’s personality. So when a man rode into the music studio where my daughter takes violin lessons, I perked up. He was broad-shouldered and his jeans hung perfectly low on his hips as he climbed off his bike and got his daughter off the seat behind. Then he unstrapped her violin and handed it to her. Then I recognized them. He usually drives a humble sedan.
This is the stuff of fantasies, people! A hot divorced dad with a bike!
Then…(cue horror music scream)…I looked at his feet. Women do that, you know. We drink in the whole package and analyze how we could improve it with a nice shopping trip. I expected to see hot Harley-riding boots. But no. Hot divorced biker dad was wearing…
Immediately my mind jumped into full book mode and I hope to tell his story next. In the meantime, meet Drake from HEART TIES. War vet, bomb-toting, tattoo-sporting, gorgeous biker with a soft spot for a certain female. You bet your ass he wears the right boots and you’ll have to keep reading this series to see why the other guy wears the Crocs!
Read on for a smoldering excerpt of HEART TIES, now up for pre-order and available on Nov 6!
His throat worked, and his eyes grew warm and liquid again. Cradling her face, he gazed at her as if his look could heal her. “I’ll make them pay.”
A small thrill went through her, but she shook her head. “It’s not important now.”
The crease between his dark brows cleared, and he leaned in. She quivered, mouth tipped up, ready for those scorching kisses.
But only his breath touched her skin. His lips hovered over the bruise on one cheek, then the other. When his warm, dry lips brushed her skin, she gasped, unable to fill her lungs with enough air.
“Delta.” He crushed his mouth to hers even as his fingers dug into her ass cheeks. In three steps he hit the bed and spread her under him. The bulge in his jeans perfectly fit tightly against her pussy, and she began to pulsate in time to her heart.
He angled his head and gave her his tongue. She yanked him down, drowning in his taste and feel. Needing so much more.
The bite of his belt buckle against her lower belly was oh, so good. She arched under him, throwing herself into the kiss.
His growl vibrated her chest, and her nipples peaked. She ached to touch him. Since she’d met him she’d dreamed of his chiseled jaw and hard lips, the planes of his back and those hips holding up low-slung jeans.
She kicked off her shoes and slid her foot up his leg.
Shock bled into her haze of passion, and he lifted his head, laughing. “Didn’t know it’s not just a titanium foot, did you?”
“No. How far up does it go?”
He took her hand and ran it over his bulging thigh muscle to straps and finally plastic that must hold the titanium leg and foot.
She met his gaze. “How?”
“Being a dumbass.”
Ever had mentioned Drake was in Afghanistan. Did he consider losing a limb for his country stupid?
He was staring at her, eyes clear green pools. “Are you okay with it?”
This time she took his hand. She guided it over her breast and hardened nipple. His primal groan was a good answer.
They rolled on the sagging mattress, bodies meshed, rocking and stripping each other. Her black T-shirt and leopard-print bra were no match for him, and his cut and shirt hit the floor.
Small squeaking gasps emitted from her as he sucked her nipple into his hot mouth. Dizzy with lust, she closed her eyes, but not for long. She wanted to see every tattooed inch of his gorgeous body.
She traced each with her gaze. Stars that must represent the Marines, curling script across his chest that said Brother at Arms. A Harley insignia on his upper biceps, spider web across his elbow. Wings, flames, the Hell’s Sons’ skeleton on a bike shooting flames from the tailpipe. She followed the inky lines over his flesh, discovering a serpent coiled on his abs and more words—blood brother, freedom.
His gaze tracked her but he lay dead still. She moved to his hands which spelled out Hell’s Sons with stars riding each knuckle above. The other arm bore a myriad of guns, knives, and a bleeding heart.
His throat worked as she moved upward. “Do you have a favorite?”
“I think I do.” Her pulse hammered in her temples, and she opened her mouth over the cross on his neck, right over his Adam’s apple.
He tasted of salt and man and everything good.
She kissed from one intricate section of the cross to the opposite, then down and up, licking a path over his smooth jaw. Releasing a long sigh, he tipped his head back to give her access.
When she reached his mouth, he growled and sucked her tongue deeply. They rolled, his heavy thigh wedged between hers, rocking against her swollen clit until her panties were a useless, soggy scrap.
His weight pressed her into the bed, and he trapped her hair under one fist. “My turn.”
He started at her collarbone where a feminine black vine with tiny pink blossoms curled down to her shoulder, sprouting into reds, blues, and purples. He traced curlicues around each petal, raising the fine hairs on her body. He ended at her wrist and a tiny daisy tattoo on the underside.
Pinching one finger lightly between his, he raised it to his mouth. As he snaked his tongue around her knuckle and down to the soft flesh below her thumb, she writhed.
“I can see there’s more, and I’m going to kiss every goddamn flower on this beautiful body of yours. Then I’m going to lick your pussy until you want to ink my name into your skin.”
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Thanks for reading,
~hardworking heroes–in bed and out~