Savage Angels: A Savage MC Erotic Romance

© Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2014-2015

Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing
 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is purely coincidental.

All the people and places are portrayed in this story are fictional. All characters are over the age of eighteen, and entirely imaginary.

Dedication

for those who have ridden on
and for all those who ride still,

especially for those who give

 
help and inspiration.

Love, Alice

Angel

I wanted tonight to be the best that it could possibly be, something really special, for him as well as for me. That way, even if he killed me, at least I’d have tonight to remember as the lights all went out.

If he knew what I’d done, I didn’t think that Cox would ever forgive me. I doubt it. Bikers don’t do much forgiving, and they’re even less likely to forgive a woman.

We hadn’t put on the light in his upstairs room at the clubhouse, and the sun was going down. The fading sunlight that sloped in through the window splashed his hair with a golden glow.
 

Watching his back, the
Savage MC
colors on his black leather cut, the denims loose over the muscular symphony of his tight, round ass. Knowing what I knew, I was on fire for him.
 

I wanted that big, hot, wild intimacy, that sense of being lost, that feeling of falling, going over the edge. Falling though the fire, like we were the fire and the world would burn away around us. I called his name,

“Cox?” and he turned slowly, the black leather creaked as he looked at me from under that unruly dark blond mop. He said my name back, “Nikka?” my stomach still dropped every time my name came out of Cox’s mouth.
 

That look in his pale blue eyes, somewhere between rage and hunger, it always turned my knees to water, made my breath catch in my chest. I wanted to speak but the words clogged in my throat.

So badly I wanted to explain things, but I didn’t know where to start, and I was afraid I’d say something there’d be no going back from. That I’d tell him something that would be the end of it all.

I reached my arms towards him, but that doesn’t work with Cox. You have to be clearer. More... definite. I took a step towards him. The light from the window was sloping and fading, and it made the shadows deep and dramatic on Cox’s face as the sun turned the sky red outside.

Coming closer, I felt him breathe. I felt the heat of his body. The swell of his powerful chest. I felt his heart pound.

I said, “It doesn’t matter, Cox. Really it doesn’t.” Our eyes locked, “It doesn’t even matter if it’s only ever this one more time. This is now. Be with me. Now.”

I looked at him as I put my hands on his hips. I searched the expressions that flashed through his eyes. Held him firm as I leaned closer towards him and felt all the muscles at the tops of his thighs slowly move.
 

I said his name again, “Cox,” and I began to lower my knees. He blinked through a look like thunder as he held my shoulder and stopped me. A biker turning down a blowjob? This must be getting serious.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he really was afraid of becoming too serious with me. All that talk about ‘old ladies,’ there was always a catch in his voice when he said it. He could never even say the phrase in front of me without getting into some kind of an explanation.

Was he acting out of his concern for my feelings? The Vice President of the
Savage MC
? It seemed unlikely. But this man Cox, he was a mass of contradictions. Even if he did accept me, took me as his old lady, it would protect me from the attention of other club members, but it wouldn’t give me much in the way of rights.

He would still be free to act in whatever ways he chose. In reality, it seemed as though all that it would mean for me was a lot of obligations. But I knew that I wanted it, deep down inside. I wanted the bond. The bond with him.
 

I moved to stand a little closer. Looked up into his eyes. Wanting him. His head bent towards me and his lips came close to mine. Our mouths opened. He held the back of my head and his eyes flickered all over my face, from my eyes to my mouth, my neck, back to my eyes. Back to my mouth.

Our breath touched and, as I breathed in to taste him, his lips touched mine. Our tongues met, like little children meeting, little children kept apart, but for no reasons that they knew. The softness and moisture of our mouths spoke for us. His lips and mine locked and there was nothing childish in the ways that our bodies wrapped and meshed and entwined.
 

His low voice was firm. He said, “This is all too hot, too fast, Nikka. There’s been noise in at the club council table. People are wary about having the police chief’s daughter so close to club business.”

“But I can help the club. You’ve seen that already.”

“You helped us out of some trouble with the police, it’s true. But some say that we would never have had that trouble if you hadn’t have been here.”

I looked in his eyes as he said, “Nikka, it isn’t only about what I want.” I took his hand,

I told him, “I know.”

We Still Kill the Old Way

The night that all the damned trouble got started I was still new to the clubhouse. Not quite as green as that young tush, the redheaded girl with the big bouncing puppies fighting to get out of her tied up gingham shirt, the girl who was sliding her pert ass in those tiny denim shorts along the bench towards Snori and Trols, the two big Norwegian bikers.

Snori, like a man mountain with a red forest from under his nose and down to his chest and a pink, pointy peak on top of his head. Trols, smaller, wiry, with black hair and a mustache that both are too black to be for real and mean, narrow eyes.

The redhead shook her shoulders some, lifted her cascading curls, then she leaned over to Snori while she looked up at Trols. She grab herself a red bush of Snori’s huge beard, slid her fingers inside his plaid shirt, run them around in some chest hair.
 

She leaned her hand on Trols’ thigh, dragged her nails up the inner seam. In no time she had the fronts of those two pairs of jeans open and two fat, angry hunks of manhood rose out, long and preening proud in the club lights.

All the confidence she had in those big, sultry eyes, you knew she was going to have a couple of tricks to show off. A party piece or two. Smart money says that she can roll the muscles in her throat up and down while something keeps her windpipe open, real wide. We’d soon see.

She grabbed Snori’s cock, while she pushed her creamy tits out towards Trols’ face. He got his nose in between them, lifting them out of her push-up. Sucking on them. While she stroked and pulled on Snori’s hard cock.

The bikers cackled and laughed like schoolkids. Only time a biker’s happier than when he’s about to get his dick sucked is after he’s got all the pipes on his bike cleaned out.

Norwegian bikers are just like American bikers, it turns out. Only difference I’ve seen is that they’re even more vicious and way more ugly.

I’d overheard Cox talking with Bogart, the
Savage MC
president. The Norwegian biker club
Kaos Anarki
brought a shipment. Guns from NATO, out of Afghanistan, and Russian grenade launchers and other heavy weapons from Georgia and Belarus. Big business for the club, and the party in the clubhouse was in their honor.

Cox steered me to the big table away from the center of the room. At the head of the table was the club president, Bogart. Tall, broad and very handsome under his shades, he had a tattoo on his cheekbone of the dagger from the club’s colors and a high, tight pony tail. Maybe the oldest man in the club, he must have been in his late forties at least. Still a very handsome guy, with a solid assurance in himself. Maybe like Cox, only a much older version of him.

When Cox introduced me to Jurgen and Bent, the two senior bikers from the Norwegian club, he told them that I was his old lady. That got Bogart’s attention and Jurgen was quick to pick up on it. “Oh, you sure about it, Cox?” Bogart watched Cox as he told Jurgen,

“I’m sure, brother.”

Bent said, “Shame. She’d be a great asset to the club if she weren’t.” Cox took it like it was a compliment, and I didn’t say anything. My eyes kept on trying to connect with Cox’s, but he was all wrapped up in the business of making the Norwegians feel at home.

Hearing him say call me his old lady made my heart leap, but it was so far away from what he’d been saying to me upstairs. Meanwhile Cox’s attention wasn’t on me at all.

He was holding the head of the table with the club president, and they were entertaining important foreign guests. Every part of the club business was a serious matter for Cox. The only thing more important to him was the care and maintenance of his bike. As he talked to the Norwegians, Nikka saw an authority, a different kind of strength in him. Yeah, maybe like a younger version of Bogart. Fresh and new.

Maybe the bouncy redhead wasn’t so green after all. She had something about her, a professional poise. The way she stroked Snori’s cock, slower and slower, while Trols got hot pulling on his own rod and watching her suck on Snori. Looked like she could be in control of that situation.

She bobbed down, a cock in her mouth and a cock in her hand. The bikers’ hands meanwhile were on her tits and cramming into her little shorts. The big guy Snori’s hips pushed his cock into her mouth while his fingers pressed greedily into her hot little wet pussy.
 

Her head lolled back, her eyes rolled up-wards and she bit her lip. Then she squeezed her eyes shut as the biker’s hand went faster into her pants. A dark patch spread under where she sat on the bench. She writhed and moaned and her head thrashed and her hips bucked on Snori’s hand.

She got the two guys standing, she went down on her knees and got ready to suck them both off.
 

Her lips slid over Trols’ cock first and her little pink tongue wriggled out along the bottom of it. Tickled his nuts as her head bobbed and she got him deep into her throat.
 

He had to take the huge serrated knife out of his belt. The evil blade glinted menacingly as he laid it down, gently like it was some religious piece.
 

The guy’s jaw worked as he reached for her hair, but she was onto the other one. No matter, since Snori had a fistful of her hair he shoved her head onto his bro’s cock. Bikers love to share.

She sucked expertly on them both in turn, taking them into her wet mouth, lifting her eyes up to theirs as she blew them with soft, wet friction. Then Snori reached down to lift her ass and slipped her little shorts down to her thighs.
 

He rubbed his hand between her legs, making her wetter and wetter. Her head bobbed harder and faster on Trols’ cock until Snori jammed the head of his cock into her little pink ass. Then she straightened up, her eyes and her mouth wide.