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AVAILABLE: Monday, May 25th
Fleeing her abusive boyfriend, Sunny hitchhikes her way up the I-95, her sights set on Jacksonville. All she hopes for is safety and freedom, and a chance to spread her wings beyond her gilded cage… What she gets is a grumpy Latina goddess clad from head-to-toe in leather offer her a ride!
Bones is as badass as they come and a rarity in the underground scene of the one-percenters. For starters, she’s a woman. But Bones earned her patch and takes no shit—from anyone. As VP of the Sons of Sin, Florida Chapter, the last thing she expects is to fall head over heels for the bright-as-button, curvy blonde she picks up on the side of the road.
But will Bones open her heart to the fragile ray of sunshine? And can she save Sunny from the demons of her past when they come, armed and ready for retribution in the middle of the night?
Be Warned: f/f sex
Hearing Sunny’s heavy breathing over my helmet’s comms has heat flaring in my core and a fierce blush blazing across my cheeks. She’s totally unaware that we can talk to one another, and sinfully—for the moment—I keep that information to myself. Her hands around my waist tighten as I rev the shit out of my hog, and I know exactly what she’s feeling. My bike rumbles beautifully, a demon on the road, a modern chariot tailored to my every whim, a Harley Davidson fit for a dark queen.
“Oh, god,” Sunny breathes, her voice so clear and close that it sounds like she’s actually whispering seductively against my ear.
The thought of my pretty passenger getting off as she rides with me is everything. I’ve been with men and women, and sometimes both at once… I’ve had serious relationships and my fair share of fuck buddies, too, but this literal sunbeam of a woman has the coals of my dark heart flickering to life unexpectedly. The sheer juxtaposition between us is almost poetic in its beauty. Sunny is the light to my dark, the pretty little good white girl to my brooding, attitude-filled Latina badassery. She’s perfect.
I bite back the thought, shoving it down into the chaos of my soul. I don’t even know this girl… But I do know that she’s in trouble and needs my help. And I’ll always help out a chick in need. In a man’s world, women need to stick together—I learned that cruel lesson early on, back before I earned my club patch. Women and girls are hurt by the rampant and unwanted advances of men every single day, on every continent of the planet. Nowhere is safe. They’re beaten for merely having a voice, for daring to want more out of life than being some prick’s sex slave and live-in kitchen maid.
The sight of Sunny’s black and purple eye swims back to the forefront of my mind and I rev the engine hard as my anger and sense of injustice flare. Fuck that asshole! How could anyone lay a hand against someone so cute, so small, so curvy, and so innocent? My rebellious spirit roars within me and I feel the fire of my foremothers blaze with glory. If I have the power to give Sunny a ride she won’t be forgetting anytime soon, if I can make her day a little better, why the hell wouldn’t I?
Sunny grinds against the leather upholstery, pressing herself more closely against me. “Yes,” she gasps, her breathy voice like honey to my ears.
I give my hog shit, and we tear down the Interstate, the world around us a blur of bright blue and vibrant green. It’s funny, no matter how long you’ve ridden, the thrill of a good road and the freedom of speed never gets old. Every moment you’re on your motorcycle you feel alive. A good ride is better than the best meal or even the most luxurious bed. In truth, at least for me, there’s only two things on Earth that can even remotely compare. One is sex with a beautiful woman, and the other is the sweet burn of an aged honey whisky after a long day.
“Jesus … fuck!” Sunny cries out irreverently over comms, her fingers digging into my leathers and her breathing ragged as she comes behind me.
I can feel her luscious curves tremoring temptingly with every punishing wave of her release. It’s erotic as hell and sets my pulse racing. Fuck, damn! With a wicked smirk behind my visor, I rev the engine anew and talk out aloud over comms for the first time. “Hold on tight, sunshine!” I warn her before I hit the gas, rearing up on the back wheel and hooning down the strip into Jacksonville.
Sunny shrieks, the tone of her voice a mix between sheer terror and unexpected glee as she clings to me like her life depends on it—and it sort of does. You don’t want to come off at this speed—it’s unlikely you’d survive the fall. And if the brutal road rash didn’t tear you ass from limb, then the traffic coming up on our rear would certainly finish the job. A small shudder ripples through me at the thought of Sunny getting hurt, but I suppress it. I have a feeling my bright-as-a-button passenger is probably a lot tougher than she looks.
“Bones! You fucking bitch!” Sunny screams, not holding back.
I can’t help the feral laughter that bubbles out of me in response. I maintain my wheelie for a solid mile before dropping the wheel back down. “That’s not the first time I’ve been called that, and it won’t be the last,” I say as we return to cruising speed.
“You could hear me the whole time?” the blonde asks, her tone one of mortified embarrassment that ends on an awkward squeak. “You heard everything?”
“Sure did, sweet cheeks,” I tease.
Sunny sighs audibly. “Well, fuck,” she says, a hint of humor in her words. “I did not have coming on the back of a motorcycle on my bingo card for today…”
“No one ever does, kitten,” I say with amusement, taking a right at San Marco.
