Crossroads (Beautiful Biker MC Romance Series) - DD Prince Page 0,1
stay with her.
I wouldn’t get a room in the members’ wing. I wasn’t a member. I was the daughter of the Prez so I got a room in his wing. I’d helped him plan the layout and it’d be a great apartment with loads of space. But the fact remained, I was under his roof and he wanted it to stay that way until I graduated from teacher’s college. This had pros and cons. Pros in that I loved my family and Dad took care of my financial needs. Cons in that it was impossible to date when your father was Prez of an MC and not only your three big brothers but another dozen biker brothers all made it their mission to ensure your hymen stayed intact until the day you died.
I put my helmet down on my dresser and changed out of my leather jacket, boots, t-shirt, and my jeans into a soft purple tracksuit, tying my semi-damp hair up in a ponytail, and slipping into my old over-loved pink bunny slippers.
I trudged out to the kitchen and put the kettle on. I waited for it, seeing Spence and Chakotay come back all soggy before the kettle boiled, then I headed down the hall to the TV room and got tucked in to watch my show.
***
Shit. I forgot Kleenex. This show always killed me. I watched for the feels it gave me, and for Kevin Pearson (Justin Hartley): the only non-biker type of my fantasies.
I wiped my eyes with my sleeves and suddenly I wasn’t alone.
Christian Forker was in there with me. He was damp from riding in the rain and immediately it was evident that he was angry.
He quirked his eyebrows up, looking thrown at either my appearance or my tears. Or both. The anger shifted to surprise.
“I’m okay. Just the TV show.” I waved my hand and wiped my eyes.
The anger was back, and fuck me, but it made my heart speed up and not in a bad way.
He glared at me. His nostrils were flaring.
“Something wrong?” I asked innocently.
“You lookin’ for a man to put you on the back of his bike or you lookin’ to be put over his knee, biker princess? That stunt you just pulled, I know which of the two you need more.”
My mouth dropped in shock.
He shook his head, staring at me with annoyance.
“It’d take a special kind of man to make me wanna ride bitch,” I snapped. I loved bikers, but their chauvinistic belief that a woman should only ride on the back of a man’s bike (aka: riding bitch) was infuriating to me.
“Yeah, well it’ll take a special kind of bitch to get my attention. And it ain’t the kinda bitch who’s just lookin’ to piss off her daddy and big brothers by riding my dick. Don’t be stupid out on the road. I see you pull shit like that again, I’ll be forced to do something about it.”
He stormed off.
God, he was fucking beautiful. And if I got my way, he was going to be mine.
1
I have never been a fan of the man-bun. Long hair? Yes. Fuck, yes. I have always had a thing for long hair. Ponytail on a guy? Okay, I can deal (though I preferred to see it flow free). Man-bun? Meh. Not a huge fan. At least not until Christian “Fork” Forker.
The first time I saw him, he strode into the kitchen of my brother’s girlfriend’s family and sucked the breath straight out of me with one dirty look. I instantaneously clenched my thighs while simultaneously feeling tingles in all of my erogenous zones. The biker was leather, wind, muscles, and Alpha. The package was complete with long fair hair, bright blue eyes, and sexy facial hair.
He wore leather. Jacket. Chaps. Boots. Leather bracelets on his wrists, leather necklace around his throat. He was big, I’m talking tall and meaty with a deep and smooth voice and he also had that I don’t give a fuck air about him that drove me wild. I’m attracted to assholes. I know, it’s crazy, but it’s true. I don’t cream myself when a nice guy gives me a sweet and lingering look. I get all quivery when I get a dirty look or am faced with arrogance in that full biker package.
There’s a problem with my taste in men. I strictly go for bikers. Bikers do not go for me. Why?
I’m not unattractive. Some people tell me I actually am the opposite. There are good