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Cocky Biker(8)

By:Faleena Hopkins


The tingles become deliriously strong when my pussy hits the vibrating seat, each and every time after we rise to avoid a speed bump. I can’t admit to myself that I’m starting to look forward to them.

I clutch his massive body tighter against me, pressing my breasts into the patch on his leather jacket, lying to myself that it’s only so I won’t fall.

When the sirens become a memory and the bumps are no longer, I try to loosen my hold…but I just can’t.

My veins are on fire.

I have no idea where he’s taking me.

But I tell myself it’s okay, because if he was fighting the men who worked for that motherfucking sadist, I have to know why.





Jett





This is the biggest rush. She’s riding the back of my baby like she was born to do it. Her huge tits, pressed into my jacket, are driving me insane. My rod is hard, twitching with lust to explore, who is she?

What the hell was she doing there?

Is she one of the women we’re supposed to save?

That gun didn’t look like a victim to me.

As she clutches onto me her fingers start to search my muscles. She’s checking me out, enjoying them, but doing it really slowly like I might not notice. Oh, I notice. As the hand she’s got on my abs moves down a little, my cock aches painfully against my zipper.

I’m biting my lip hard.



I want to fuck this chick so badly I can taste her cunt from here.

When I ride up, The Ciphers are clearing out their rooms, exactly as I expected.

The nameless enigma climbs off my bike and I throw my legs over and adjust my crotch right in front of her.

Gorgeous, deep brown eyes dart to my aching bulge, and I nod and mutter, “No fuckin’ hidin’ this, and I ain’t apologizin’ for it. But you’re safe with me. So come on.”

“Where?” she demands as she jogs up.

Under my breath so no witnesses hear me, I inform the gorgeous kitty, “Another motel.”

She stops walking. I flip around, not about to take my luxurious time. We have to get out here. NOW. But she cuts me off before I have a chance to say anything. “What were you doing over there?!”

“I wanna ask you the same thing, Sunshine. Come on. We’ll talk later.”

I expect an argument, but she follows me. I have a feeling she’s used to running, too. She gets that time is of the essence when the police are on your tail.

In my room, I grab the shit I left behind before I go for her arm and speed us both out of here.

“You don’t have to drag me!”

Tonk appears outside his room. The others are already climbing back on their bikes.

Scratch throws me his extra helmet and I hand it to her.

“Tell her she’s safe.”

Honey Badger mutters, “I don’t lie to people.”

Chuckling, I say, “Fuck you. Thanks a lot.”

He locks eyes with the cat and says with complete sobriety, “You’re safer with us than with anyone you ever met.”

Prideful I glance to her. She locks eyes with each of the Ciphers.

They nod. Nothing big. Just one somber motion each, of agreement, one after the other.

“Fine,” she huffs.

I throw my leg over my Harley and wait for her to mount it. As sensually as if she were climbing onto my cock, she gets on, then tugs her helmet strap into place before she wraps those soft, feminine arms around my body again just in time for us to explode out of the parking lot.

This is why we pay cash, and why we stay in motels. Hotels want a credit card and with what we do, we can’t leave tracks.

Further into the valley is safe. It’s the forgotten land. All the signs are in Spanish. Residential streets are kept nice by the occupants, alone. The businesses are the opposite. They’re rundown, graffiti-covered, bar-protected pieces of crap. No corporate or government money comes to take care of the place or the people. They got here, they crossed the border, now they have to fend for themselves.

And I get it.

But when you see it in person, it’s a shitty sight.

The dive we pull into makes the place we just left look like luxury. But we all know the truth. No one will bother us here. And the cops wouldn’t look for white guys in ‘Little Mexico.’

The parking lot is in the back. Perfect. Only one car in it and it probably belongs to the jerk behind the counter. I don’t even have to meet him to know what he’s like. They’re all the same in places like this. It’s a rare exception when you find one not watching an old television set, no smile on their faces for years.

Scratch orders Tonk, “Go get the rooms. You’re the least bloody.”

“Pussy,” Honey Badger calls after our youngest and tallest member.

Tonk throws up a middle finger.

“At least his sense of humor is improving,” Fuse says under his breath.