One
Night in Daytona Beach is
part of the amazing erotic romance series, City Nights, released by
Tirgearr
Publishing.
He
hadn't seen her in 10 years, but there she was, dressed in black
leather, straddling the Harley. Draven Wick is back home, on a break
from filming his vampire themed TV show, when he spots Jamie Humphrey
at a Bike Week raffle. The love of his teen life, Draven never
thought he'd see her again. Rekindling their romance after 10 years
is the easy part. Unfortunately, Draven has been blamed for the death
of a notorious bike gang leader. Staying ahead of the police, and the
biker gang bent on revenge, takes Jamie and Draven to the brink of
disaster.
Excerpt
from One Night in Daytona Beach
Long,
dangerous legs, an ass that wouldn't quit, lush curves clad in skimpy
black leather, flaming red hair wafted on the breeze while the rumble
of a thousand Harleys filled the air. He couldn't draw his eyes from
the gorgeous redhead, whose hair reminded him of the flames on the
side of his bike. Heavy metal music thrummed from gigantic speakers,
banging and echoing from the sides of the nearby condos. Cameras
snapped, his included, as she draped herself over the motorcycles
being raffled off for charity. The line to register wound around the
parking lot.
"I'd
like to rev her engine," one man said as he stuffed his tickets
into his wallet.
"Full
throttle," the man next to him laughed loudly at their joke.
Every
man there was thinking the same thing, which was the entire point of
having a sexy, long legged woman straddling the chrome studded
leather seat. Leaning on the handle bars, she rocked back, her chest
to the sky as she arched her spine. With a quick swing of her legs,
she did a shoulder stand on the seat, then lowered her feet with
agonizing slowness so that the toes of her high heeled boots pointed
directly at the patch of stretched black leather between her thighs.
Draven
nearly dropped his phone. The man next to him let his cup of beer
slide from his numb fingers. Every man in the line eyed her with
fascination. Though disgusted with the behavior of the men, the women
couldn't help but stare too. They were amazed that anyone could do
such antics on a motorcycle. The music continued to thrum and pound
at them as they watched her routine. In a fleeting moment of
coherence, Draven recognized it as Killing Strangers by
Marilyn Manson. She was certainly slaying every man in the place with
her sexy routine.
"Hey,
buddy, your turn!" the man at the cash register called, snapping
his fingers.
Draven
stumbled forward, his legs having lost the ability to move without
conscious thought. He fumbled with his wallet and phone, trying to
slide one out and the other into the pockets of suddenly too-tight
jeans.
"How
many?" the man asked, all business.
"Um,
how much are they?"
"Hundred
a piece."
"You
take plastic?"
"Everything
but American Express."
"I'll
take five."
"You
got it." He filled out Draven's details, rang up the cost and
scanned his plastic.
"Does
the girl come with it?" the man behind Draven asked. He was old
and fat, not the kind of man a girl like her would even look at once.
His words might have been said in jest, but coming from his slobby,
heavy jowled mouth, it was seriously pervy. The men behind the table
and near him in line, gaped at him, horrified.
"That
young lady is my daughter," the man who handled Draven's
transaction growled. "So you watch what you say."
"How's
a man let his daughter act like a hoor in public," the fat man
yelled, slamming a meaty fist down on the table.
Startled
by the noise, the girl lost her balance as she rolled out of the
shoulder stand. Toppling, she fell. Draven leaped toward her,
covering the ten feet to the cycles, in a superhuman rush. He
steadied her, helping her sit up slowly. Getting a good look at her
face, he felt a spark of recognition.
"Jamie
Humphrey?" He touched her cheek, brushing her hair from the
corner of her full, red lips.
"Draven
Wick? Oh, my God! Is it really you?" She clung to him, hugging
him tightly. "How many years has it been? Ten?"
"About
that. God, you look fantastic!"
Clasping
his face, she gazed into his golden hazel eyes. "Thank you for
catching me."
"You're
welcome. Are you okay?"
"I'm
fine. Thanks."
Others
had gathered around, watching the scene unfold. When it became
apparent that the woman wasn't hurt, the men at the desk went back to
selling tickets.
"That's
not really your dad," Draven murmured.
"Of
course not. He just says that so that men will leave me alone."
"How
about fair time for the women?" a heavyset woman called from the
line. "Let's see the hunk take his shirt off!" she whooped.
Women
all over the parking lot cheered and whistled. Draven cast a saucy
look at Jamie. The music had changed once more, pounding
out Closer by Nine Inch Nails—the unedited
version, he noted with a grin. Grabbing the bottom of his shirt, he
raised it with agonizing slowness as his hips gyrated to the sexy
music. Jamie played it up, running her hands under the shirt, rubbing
his abs and tugging on the cloth with her teeth.
More
cameras snapped and the women yelled loudly, screaming at him to take
it all off. As he did a lecherous bump and grind, Draven strutted
around the bike. Between the two cycles, he twirled his shirt,
straddling it. Riding it like a hot woman, he continued to dance.
Jamie hopped up, standing behind him, she ran her hands up and down
his tight abs and hard thighs. Spinning to face her, Draven roped
Jamie with his shirt, pulling her close to dirty dance with him. The
song ended and he spun her under his arm, dropping her into a low
dip, her back arched, breasts high. Red hair tickled the pavement as
he raised her with one arm. Faces mere inches apart, they tried to
catch their breath. It took some time before they realized that the
line was now three times what it had been. Women ringed around them,
waving money at Draven.
"You
grew up nice, Wick," Jamie said, taking a step back. Her hand
drifted down his chest to the top of his jeans. Eyes wide with
delight, she dangled her fingers by his zipper. With tantalizing
deliberateness, she touched the fabric that strained across his
throbbing member.
"You
keep that up, I can't be responsible," he whispered.
"You
keep that up, I can't be either," she replied.
"I
really wanna kiss you, Jamie."
"On
the bike," she suggested. "I get paid a percentage of what
they bring in."
Laughing,
he picked her up, putting her on the motorcycle, facing the rear,
straddling the engine. Draven took his time swinging one long,
muscular, jean-clad leg over the seat. Scooting him forward with her
feet, Jamie wrapped her legs around his waist. Laying her back,
Draven teased and coaxed her mouth, his tongue tickling her lips.
With a decisive lunge, he raised his body, grasped the handlebars and
kissed her. Until that moment, Jamie had thought his antics were all
for show. A consummate performer, he knew how to work a crowd. But
that kiss wasn't pretending and the rock hard bad boy in his pants
wasn't a prop.
He
didn't linger over the kiss. His timing was, as always, superb.
Leaning back, Draven swung his leg off the cycle, standing in one
fluid motion as he held out his hand to her. The crowd went wild. The
men at the table had to scramble to accommodate the line, bringing in
extra help.
Draven
stood near Jamie, hoping to kiss her again. Instead, everyone wanted
pictures with them and the bikes. Most of them gave tips, some wanted
autographs. They all wanted them to kiss. Draven worked the crowd,
giving them just enough to keep them asking for more.
"Do
you think any of them recognize you?" Jamie asked, her smile
toothy and wide.
"Doubt
it. I'm out of context."
"Won't
they shit when they figure it out?"
He
chuckled, kissing her cheek by request. "Right in their pants.
You smell amazing," he said, nuzzling her neck all on his own.
A
dozen cameras clicked.
"I've
missed you, Jamie."
Shivering,
she held his face as directed, giving him a kiss. "Me, too."
"Seeing
anyone?"
"Not
really."
They
straddled the bike again, with her in front, holding the handlebars.
His long, sinewy thighs clenched against hers from behind.
"Is
that a yes or no? I don't speak Biker Babe anymore."
"No
one steady."
"Does
he think that?"
Jamie
blushed, turning her head to look at him. "Why all the
questions, Wick? Got some burning desire to know all my secrets?"
Draven
nibbled her neck, cheating the angle a little, so he was still camera
ready. "I've got a burning desire, Humphrey, but it isn't about
your secrets."
©
Dellani Oakes 2015
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