Free Petals and Chrome: A Biker Erotic Romance (Flowers of Hell MC) by Alicia Pierce Page A

noise was getting louder and louder, coming this way, and for some reason I felt a flash of excitement in my stomach as I heard the noises building into a violent growl.  
    I opened my eyes and shifted up once more in the bed, this time moving my face up to the back window and pulling back a corner of the blinds, peering out onto the speeding highway behind us.  
    Sure enough, there in the distance, coming straight towards us, was a gang of bikers, the engines of their motorcycles billowing great clouds of menacing black smoke behind them.  
    There were maybe ten or twelve of them, clad in pitch-black leathers, their jackets and bikes all emblazoned with some sort of red symbol that I couldn’t quite make out. It looked like a red flower, maybe … A rose ? Some of them wore cut-off jackets, their muscular sun-tanned arms covered in tattoos, and as the gang of bikers approached the RV, I felt the buzzing excitement and nervousness building in my stomach.  
    These men were so unlike James, I thought. There was absolutely nothing meek or weedy or timid about them . No, these men were truly fearless, living only for themselves and for their own pleasures. I felt simultaneously afraid and envious as I watched them, finding that I couldn’t tear my eyes off them as their bikes swarmed around the RV, overtaking it on both sides and then, with a final screech of wheels and a snarl of their engines, leaving it behind in a black billow of exhaust fumes as they raced off down the highway.  
    “Jesus!” Dave’s reedy voice rang out from the front of the RV. “Did you see those fucking dickheads?”  
    “Yeah,” James chipped in. “Tattooed wankers!”
    I shifted back down in the bed, pulling the blankets over my head to muffle out the daylight. It was always so warm and sticky in the RV — none of us were used to the sweltering heat of an American summer, so unlike sunless, perpetually-overcast Bristol — and my skin was soon slicked with a thin sheen of sweat.  
    As I shuffled further beneath the sheets, trying to get comfortable, I found my thoughts turning once more to those bikers. I thought about their freedom and their menace, their thick muscular arms and their don’t-give-a-fuck attitudes … And as I thought about them, I found my hand slipping gently over my tingling stomach and then down, under the elasticated waist of my shorts.  
    As my trembling fingers slipped softly into my knickers, I noted with a muffled gasp that my pussy was already wet and gooey with my own juices, my clit was swollen and throbbing, radiating waves of pleasure around my body as I began to work it in tight little circles. I took one corner of the sheet into my mouth, biting down so hard on it that my jaw ached, the only way to muffle my pants and whimpers as I toyed with my clit and soaking wet pussy with an increasing urgency, my mind now spinning out of control with fantasies of that whole biker gang taking me at once — however the hell they wanted — taking my pussy, arse and mouth simultaneously, focussing only of their own pleasures, ravaging my tight young body, scooping my pert little titties from my vest top with their hot grubby fingers and slamming their hard dirty cocks into me from all angles until I came with a final, whimpering shudder, my teeth clenching down hard on the blanket, my legs trembling involuntarily and my fingers smeared wet from my dripping, yearning pussy.  

Chapter Two

    Early that evening, we pulled into the quiet, lamp-lit RV park and paid the old guy at the front cabin in advance for a single night’s stay. He squinted at us disapprovingly from over his smudged, dirty horn-rimmed glasses as we handed over our crisp clean twenty dollar bills.  
    “So, where you folks from?” he asked as he began counting out our change with shaky, arthritic fingers.  
    “Bristol,” James volunteered.  
    The old man looked at us blankly.  
    “You know? In England ?” James continued.  
    “Is that