Biker Boys Love Big Girls (A BBW Erotic Romance‪)‬

Summary:

Daria Shone tends bar at The Greasy Gasket every weekend. It's a place populated with her favorite type of guy: guys with big arms, and bigger bikes. It doesn't hurt that they give big tips, too. But all the guys Daria likes are always taken. That is, until one Friday night when a tall, taut, dark-haired and dark-eyed young buck named Quentin strolls up to her bar, and charms her out onto his big chopper...

Of course, Quentin isn't just interested in getting a big, sexy babe out onto the road. Or with having his big bike rumble and vibrate between her thighs. He's not shy to say what he wants, and he wants Daria bent over his bike, with him behind her. So he can make her moan. But can Quentin keep up with the big bartender when she starts stuffing hands down his jeans while they tear down the highway? Or will she prove too much for the young biker boy with the big arms?

This steamy, sexy short story contains everything you could want if you're into bikes, bad boys, and BBWs. A sexy dude, a bold lady, and brazen, steamy sex on a big, black motorcycle await inside. Care to take a ride?

Approx. 8400 words, intended for adults only.

Excerpt:

I held to Quentin’s firm stomach and rest my face against his back. If he could feel me rubbing myself on his bike, grinding my soaked body against it, well, he didn’t say a word. Hell, he’d probably have encouraged me, probably told me to go faster. To ride his bike like he was going to ride me. Hungry, desperate, like a wolf in heat.

We roared into a sky that was darkening and sped away from the town lights behind us. The wind and the engine too loud to speak, but I was already satisfied with the words he had used to get me on his bike and away from the bar. Any more would have been useless. Besides, I had an idea that I had always wanted to try, and it would have been too hard to explain. I decided to just go for it.

My hands slid down Quentin’s trim stomach, down to his thighs, and then folded into his lap. I placed them over the spot where I had seen the hard lump in the crotch of his denim when he got me out from behind the bar. It was still hard, a turgid lump that folded against his hips and strained the fabric of his jeans.

The engine was too loud for me to hear myself gasp, but when I got my hands on that lump I had to let my surprise out somehow. The thing filled both my hands and then some, and it was so hard that the denim couldn’t do anything to keep it squished against his body.

...