Publisher’s Note:
This is Book #2 in the Bare Bones MC series. This book is a stand-alone and can be read
out of order. However, it is advised to
read THE BARE BONES first to get a complete picture of the club’s background,
storylines, and setting.
Publisher’s note:
This is not your mother’s contemporary romance. Daring readers will encounter sexual assault,
violence against women, general violence among men, consensual BDSM, and a HEA. It is not for the faint of heart. It’s a full
length novel of 65,000 words with no cliffhanger. Recommended 18+ due to mature content.
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One two three four five six seven. All good sinners go to heaven.
Peace Corps
volunteer June Shellmound returns to Arizona to care for her dying mother. At the clubhouse of The Bare Bones motorcycle
club, June is swept into the drama when half-breed Lytton Driving Hawk barges
in and demands recognition as president Ford Illuminati’s half-brother.
Hot enough to
melt steel, Lytton has forged a life apart from the reservation as a brilliant
chemist, living the high times at his pot farm in the mountains. Lytton is no fortunate son, though, and the
mortal secrets Ford’s been hiding about their father drive the last nail into
their brotherly coffin.
Lytton turns his
back on The Bare Bones and sweet bleeding heart June. Blinded by vengeance, Lytton becomes ruled by
his own demons, raising hell alongside Ford’s mortal enemies, The Cutlasses. Alliances are torn apart within the club,
loyalties are divided, and everyone’s true spirits are tested. When the dust clears, Lytton and June find
themselves running for their lives just to…
STAY VERTICAL
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Putting his hands under my arms, he
lifted me onto the library table where his chemistry textbooks were. I leaned back on a book that was open to some
hydraulic engineering tables, spreading my thighs wide. I had no shame. I knew that if I wanted to
win and keep Lytton’s attention, I couldn’t be the prim and proper mathlete or
the crusading Peace Corps worker. I had
to be the hard-as-nails, worldly biker chick who was as comfortable on his
Softail’s pussy pad as I was in his bed.
He pressed his forehead to mine. The crotch of his jeans was packed with his
straining erection, but unlike most men, he proved he could ignore that for a
few seconds. “I want you to be my old
lady. Weaver forced my hand, June. I want to put your best interests first in my
dominance of you. Here.”
Without tearing his eyes from mine, he
swiped an object from a taller dresser.
I didn’t want to break his gaze either, and I felt more than saw him
wrap a wide leather cuff around my wrist.
He was serious now, his eyes brimming with unexpressed emotion, and I
had the distinct feeling he didn’t do this sort of ceremonial thing every day.
“Your happiness, your health, your
contentment are in my care now, June Shellmound. I offer this cuff to you to guide you in your
journey through life.” He grinned and
added in a less stiff tone, “I’ll get you a better collar when I get down to P
& E. This just happened to be
here. Go with me on this.”
I finally looked down and saw he’d
snapped a plain brown leather wristband around my arm. The contentment Lytton wished for me flooded
through me instantly, and I found myself saying, “I want to belong to you and
go wherever you want to bring me. I
trust in you, Lytton. I submit to your
guidance because I know you want what’s best for me.” I have no idea where I pulled that from, but
it worked. I did submit to his guidance—in almost everything.
I probably would’ve said the dreaded “L
word,” but he silenced me with a kiss.
Now he leaned into me, pressing his hard-on against my very core, making
my inner channel flutter with anticipation.
The shudder seemed to resonate through my uterus and ovaries, sending a
surge of estrogen through me. I angled
my hips toward him, locking the heel of one shoe in his back jeans pocket. Love swept through me because he’d made me
his old lady.
It was almost as though he felt that
love. Suddenly some intense and frantic
libido took hold of him. Bending at the
knees, he scooped my ass into his palms and carried me to the bed. He tossed me like a load of laundry and I
bounced, my arms splayed above my head, wide open for him. I knew I was smiling when he stripped that
wifebeater from his sculpted torso. I
could have easily stayed there for a century watching him lift his arms over
his head, the stylized eagle rippling as it wrapped around his shoulder.
But Lytton didn’t have all the time in
the world. Last time I’d been with him,
he’d been a generous, sensitive lover, putting my orgasm first. He hadn’t even seemed to care about whipping
his cock out and finding release. Now,
though, he was all about unbuckling his belt in a flash and finding
satisfaction.
I wasn’t prepared—I didn’t exactly
wander around Arizona with old expired condoms in my wallet—but I knew it was
the safe time of month. At the moment,
to be honest, safety wasn’t first on my mind.
When Lytton shoved his jeans around his thighs and his long, fat cock
leaped free, I was his willing receptacle.
I knew Lytton wouldn’t make me pay for
my meal, or bring his fishing pole on a romantic vacation, or measure the spice
in the curry jar. He’d never had his
retainer tossed onto the school’s roof—for better or worse, he’d been the bully
giving the swirlies and purple
nurples to the nerds. Lytton was a
larger than life renegade, a survivor of an impoverished upbringing. He was tough and courageous, with a fiery
spirit that could not be kept down, and right now he was sinking himself
balls-deep in me while I cried out with a soul-splitting wail, begging to be
filled.
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