Archive for Sexy ebook

My newest release, CASH, is LIVE!

Posted in Adult Romance, MC Erotic Romance, mc erotica, mc romance, MC Romance Books, mc romance novel, Must Read MC Romance Novel, Scott Hildreth with tags , , , , , , on February 18, 2018 by scottdhildreth

My newest release, CASH, is Book II of the Devil’s Disciples MC Series, and a great stand-alone with an HEA.

Divorced and in her mid forties, Kimberly fears her sex/love life is over. Southern California’s dating scene is all too competitive, and everyone she’s met has been a douche.

When fate puts a badass biker in her path one night, she dreams of what her life would be like if he were in it. The age disparity between them leaves her with the realization that her dreams will remain just that, dreams.

And then he asks her on a date.

This one is HOT, filled with angst, and has the best of HEAs. Not to be missed.

 

 

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The First four chapters of “CASH”, my soon-to-be-released book about a divorced older woman, and a younger biker.

Posted in Scott Hildreth, free kindle books, Free Kindle, free chapters, free kindle romance, Free sex with tags , , , , , on January 15, 2018 by scottdhildreth

 

 

 

PROLOGUE

 

I couldn’t believe my ears. With my arms wrapped tightly around my mid-section, I rocked back and forth in my chair and fought to keep from crying.

“You’re telling me that someone hacked into my accounts, took everything, and didn’t leave a single trace?”

He lifted a one-inch-thick pile of paperwork from his desk and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. “We’ve got the account number that the money was initially transferred to, but the funds are no longer there–”

“There’s got to be some record of where the money went. Right?”

“There does,” he said with a slight nod. “And, there is. But…”

My heart fluttered with hope. There had to be a way to find it. There simply had to.

He tossed the stack of paperwork to the side and shook his head. “I’m sorry to say the account no longer exists. The money was moved several times, and at one point, the funds were split into multiple accounts. Then, based on the information we’ve been provided, we believe the accounts were converted to cash. From that point, it’s impossible to trace where the money went.”

My father’s intelligence coupled with a little luck in the stock market had built the fortune, and I’d spent my lifetime acting as if it didn’t exist. To think that someone managed to get to my accounts, drain them of several million dollars – and do so without my knowledge or approval – was incomprehensible.

“But, there’s a name. There must be a name,” I muttered. “An account can’t be opened without a name and a social security number.”

His blank expression confirmed my fear.

“Tell me you’ve got a name, John,” I pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Kimberly. The FBI will be conducting an investigation. Based on the information I’ve been able to gather, however, I’ve got little hope the funds will be found. This isn’t common, but I have seen this happen before.”

The son-of-a-bitch probably started planning to rob me right after he swept me off my feet. I should have known better than to ever let my guard down. Confiding in him that I had the nest egg was a mistake I’d undoubtedly regret until the day I died.

Admitting now that I once loved him made me feel ill.

I had a cute little shoe boutique that I loved, but it produced almost no revenue. The earned interest of my inheritance was my main source of income. Without it, living day to day – even in my modest home – would be impossible.

I stared blankly at him, waiting for something to change. For him to tell me that there was something left. A crumb. A few thousand dollars.

Something.

He stood and straightened his tie. “I’m sorry, Kimberly. I know Isaac and Janet are turning over in their graves about this.”

Fearing my legs wouldn’t hold me if I attempted to stand, I chose to remain seated. As he came around the corner of his desk, the sorrow he wore caused my stomach to twist into a knot.

“Whoever did this was a professional?” I pressed my forearms against my mid-section. “Someone who knew what they were doing?”

“Absolutely. It isn’t that they didn’t leave a trace, because they did.” He crossed his arms. “It’s more difficult than that. Our system of checks and balances was met. Passwords were prompted, entered, as were mother’s maiden names and high school mascots. On the surface, it appears that you were the one transferring the funds. Your presence today, however, indicates you weren’t. I’m truly sorry.”

I drew a slow breath, and then stood. After bracing myself on the arm of the chair, I met his sorrowful gaze. “The FBI can’t catch them?”

“They’ll try, but I have doubts they’ll do anything in a manner timely enough to recover the funds. Cases like this are always shoved to the back burner, so to speak.”

“If I wanted to find this guy, I’d have to move quickly. Is that what you’re saying?”

“It would require more than moving quickly. It would require finding a computer genius who was capable of hacking deep into the bowels of a financial network designed to thwart such activity. There’s a handful of such people. They’re either employed by the government, or they’re very anti-government,” he explained.

I nodded. “A hacker.”

“A hacker who isn’t opposed to breaking the law. They’d have to search without warrants, or cause. The person in question would have to be a criminal with experience in manipulating funds. Not a professional, a criminal.”

My mouth twisted into a smirk.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You know such a mastermind?”

I knew someone who knew someone. It was a stretch, but it was all I had. Eager to get started at finding my money – and to bury the man who stole it – I brushed the wrinkles from my dress and straightened my posture.

“Downplay the necessity to investigate this to the FBI if you can,” I said. “It’ll buy me some time. I may need it.”

“If you find him before they do, there’ll likely be no prosecution for the crime.”

I chuckled a dry laugh. “After I catch this son-of-a-bitch, there’ll be nothing left of him to prosecute.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

Kimberly

 

 

When it comes to relationships, forever doesn’t mean forever. It means until something more exciting comes along.

For twenty years, Marvin promised that the day would come when things would be different. For nineteen of them, I believed him. Convinced that he was going to change, I lived hoping the next sunrise would bring with it a new life. One where I lived with the man of my dreams, not the one I was married to.

But change never came.

My fear of being single prevented me from leaving him. Somehow comfortable in the awkward one-sided relationship, I accepted that I’d simply be alone throughout our marriage. That fear was replaced by anger when I found out he’d been cheating on me for two decades.

Humiliated, angry, and scared, I gathered my things and left one day while he was at work.

Although it took time, I became comfortably independent. Confidence followed. I learned to cook for one. I joined the YMCA. I ran a half marathon. I developed routines. I cleaned house, repeatedly. Eventually, I found new friends and developed a new way of enjoying life.

Yet. I remained single.

Not by choice, either.

A few years passed. Several drunken idiots hit on me, often saying things like, nice tits, or do women your age give head? I found no one who was looking for a real relationship, or that I was interested in. I realized I may never find love. Then, I accepted it as being inevitable. Even though I’d never felt better about myself, I feared I was simply too old to garner anyone’s interest in the competitive SoCal singles scene.

Initially, I blamed him for ruining my chances at living a normal life. He promised to cherish me and love me forever, despite what changes may come about in our lives. He took an oath. An oath that he broke repeatedly through dishonesty, infidelity, indifference, violent behavior, and sheer disrespect. I felt that I’d wasted twenty-five years of my life. A quarter of a century of dating and marriage, all for nothing. In the end, I realized it wasn’t anyone’s fault, it was just the way life unfolded.

So, I accepted it as being nothing more than a speedbump on my life’s freeway.

Now, after nearly four years, that speedbump was standing on my porch. Dressed in my pajamas and house slippers, I stood in the doorway and stared at him. He had no right to simply show up at my home, and I was prepared to tell him so.

I stepped through the door, gave him an evil glare, and raised my index finger. “I’m going to count to three, and then–”

“And then, what?” he barked.

He stepped off the back side of the porch and looked me over. “You look good, Kim. I miss fucking you.”

“I mean it,” I snapped back, my voice thick with anger. “Get off my property, or I’ll–”

“You’ll what? You gonna scream?” A drunken laugh rumbled from his lungs. “I like it when you scream. Go ahead.”

“I’ll call the police. In case you forgot, you’re under a restraining order. You’re not supposed to be here. Ever.” I huffed out a sigh. “It’s been almost four years. I’m over you. Get over me.”

“You’re not going to call the cops.” He grabbed at his crotch. “You want it and you know it.”

He was an asshole by nature. When he drank, he was a belligerent asshole. He was ten feet away, yet the smell of whiskey leeching from his pores enveloped me like a dense fog. Reasoning with him was going to be impossible. I decided to give my closing remark and return to the comfort of my queen-sized Green Tea mattress.

“We haven’t had sex in five years,” I said with a laugh. “I don’t want it. Now, or ever. You’re disgusting.”

Courage was something else that I developed after we parted. I liked my new life, and the new me. Brimming with confidence, I turned and reached for the door.

He grabbed my shoulder and spun me halfway around, almost knocking me down in the process. I swung my arms wildly, hoping to fight him off. His massive size and drunken determination, however, prevented me from succeeding. It seemed his angry hands were everywhere, groping and grabbing places I decided he was no longer entitled entitled to grope and grab.

“Stop it!” I screamed. Blindly, I pounded my fists into his face and neck. “Get off me!”

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you,” he warned. “You look like you need it.”

If he was going to fuck me, he was going to have to kill me. I decided many years prior that he was never going to touch me again, and I was prepared to fight him like I feared nothing.

One of my wild swings caught him right in the eye. In retaliation, he slammed me against the side of the house, knocking the wind completely out of me. While I sucked a choppy breath, he fumbled to find the door handle. With his attention diverted away from me and one of his hands busy, I kneed him in the balls as hard as I could. A few wild swings of my clenched fists followed, as did several swift kicks to his groin.

I’d hoped to get him to turn me loose, so I could either run inside or take off down the street. Instead of releasing me, his clenched fist crashing into my jaw. I stumbled across the porch as I tried to keep my footing.

When everything came into focus, his twisted grin was the first thing I saw. The second was the neighbor from down the street leaving on his motorcycle.

Marvin pulled the front door open, laughing at my efforts to fight him off. I took advantage of the opportunity, and leapt from the porch. Flailing my arms and screaming as I ran across the front yard, I made a beeline toward the flickering headlight of the neighbor’s Harley.

“Help me!” I came to a stop directly in front of the motorcycle’s path. “He’s trying to rape me!”

The motorcycle swerved to miss me, and came to a screeching stop at my side. The rider cut off the engine. Through his clear-lensed glasses, he looked at me with anger in his eyes.

“What the fuck?” He unbuckled the strap on his helmet. “I almost hit you.”

He wasn’t my neighbor, nor was he familiar. I didn’t care. He was willing to listen, and that was all that mattered.

“He’s…” I heaved to catch my breath and pointed toward my house. “He’s trying to…rape me.”

Before I had an opportunity to explain further, the biker was half the distance to my porch, chasing after my stupid ex, who was running toward his truck.

The biker tackled Marvin as if he were stopping him from scoring the game-winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. Filled with confidence that the stranger would keep my asshole ex from attacking me again, I walked toward the two men. By the time I got there, Marvin was flat on his back, and the biker was sitting on his chest.

I leaned over them. “Who getting fucked now, asshole?” I asked in a sarcastic tone. “Not me.”

“She’s my wife,” Marvin lied. “I was just…”

“We’re not married, you liar,” I bellowed. “We haven’t been for almost four years.”

With his knees against Marvin’s arms and his hands holding his wrists, the biker looked up at me. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“She’s out of her fucking mind,” Marvin said. “I’ll tell you what’s going on–”

“Shut the fuck up,” the biker demanded. “Nobody’s talking to you.”

“We divorced almost four years ago,” I shouted. “I’ve got a restraining order against him! I haven’t seen him in eighteen months, and he showed up tonight and said he was going to fuck me. When I said no, he did this.” I touched the tip of my index finger against my swollen cheek.

The biker studied me. Upon seeing the damage that Marvin had done to my face, his expression changed from concern to rage. Without saying a word, he removed his helmet, tossed it aside, and then yanked Marvin to his feet.

“You hit her?” he asked through clenched teeth.

I’d spent over twenty years with Marvin. During that time, I was convinced that men didn’t exist who were bigger than he was. The biker stood as proof that I was wrong. He towered over Marvin’s six-foot-two frame like a bearded giant.

Marvin looked at me, scoffed, and then looked at the biker. “Sometimes, women need it. She needed it.”

Apparently, it wasn’t the answer the biker had hoped for.

His fist plowed into Marvin’s face. A flurry of punches from the biker followed – each of which caused Marvin to crumble closer to the ground. After the last swing – a wild right hand that came crashing against Marvin’s jaw with a crack, his legs gave out, and he fell against his truck.

Then, without throwing a punch or saying a word, Marvin slumped into a pile at the biker’s feet. The lop-sided fight took fifteen seconds, if that.

Marvin covered his bloody face with his hands and moaned.

There’s not a victim of abuse that doesn’t wish she’d be given an opportunity to kick her attacker in the balls without fear of repercussion. If given a chance, any woman would jump at the occasion.

So, that’s what I did. I jumped. On Marvin’s nuts, that is.

With all my might, I stomped my heel into Marvin’s overly active male anatomy. The air shot from his lungs with a grunt, and his body wadded into the fetal position.

“Damn.” The biker looked at me. His mouth twisted into a smirk. “That was cruel.”

I wasn’t cruel, Marvin was cruel. After we divorced, he’d often stop by and threaten to burn down my house or kill my cat. My house was never touched, but one day my cat disappeared. I despised him. I wished he would be hit by a passing truck while changing his tire on the Five. A recurring daydream of bits and pieces of his body being strewn along the freeway from Los Angeles to San Diego brought an odd sense of comfort when it came to mind.

A leg in Costa Mesa for fucking the tattooed skank of a bartender at Twin Peaks. An arm in San Clemente for repeatedly dipping his dick in the anorexic receptionist at his office. His head in Oceanside for the fling with the nineteen-year-old Vietnamese girl who believed his promise of getting her legal citizenship.

He didn’t have enough body parts – nor were there enough cities along the interstate to toss them – for all the fucked-up shit he made me endure.

“Cruel?” I folded my arms over my chest. “You don’t know him like I know him. What he did tonight was nothing compared to what he’s done to me for years.”

His face went stern. “He’s done this before?”

“In so many ways that I lost count many years ago.”

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, removed his glasses, and studied me. An untrimmed beard covered his face, and gave him a rugged don’t fuck with me appearance.

I looked him over. He was tall, and built like an athlete. A black tee shirt clung tightly to his broad chest, and tattered jeans covered his long legs. A pair of lace-up leather boots finished off the biker ensemble perfectly. He looked mean, but if I’d learned anything in my forty-four years, it was that a person’s looks were no indication of who they were on the inside.

Marvin groaned, and attempted to stand.

Without shifting his eyes away from me, the biker swung the toe of his boot into Marvin’s crotch. The impact wadded him into a tight ball, and ended any chance of him getting up for a long, long time.

My rescuer undressed me with his eyes, and eventually met my gaze.

“Cash,” he said dryly.

I coughed out disbelief, and gave him an I can’t fucking believe you look. “You want me to pay you?”

“No.” He chuckled. “My name’s Cash.”

Marvin remained incapacitated, moaning his displeasure into the warm night air. I studied the biker. His rough looks, disheveled appearance, and bloody knuckles convinced me that in his presence, I would be safe.

“Kimberly.” I shook his hand. “Kimberly Welch. Thank you for helping me.”

He eyed me up and down. After pausing at my boobs for a moment, he looked me in the eyes and grinned.

“I like your pussy,” he said flatly.

My face flashed hot. My lips parted, and although my mind wanted me to respond, my mouth had gone completely dry. Saying anything wasn’t going to come easily.

I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth and swallowed hard. “Huh?”

His eyes dropped to my boobs. “Nice pussy.”

I glanced down, and then quickly realized what he was talking about. There was a cartoonish cat plastered across the chest of my pajama shirt. He didn’t like my pussy at all, he was simply making fun of my late-night attire. Despite the awkwardness of having my ex-husband moaning in pain at my feet I imagined riding away on the back of his bike and never looking back.

It was nice to dream, if even just for a moment.

I squeezed my biceps against the edge of my boobs, feigned a chill, and gave a quick curtsey. “Thank you.”

The sound of police sirens wailed in the distance. He cocked his head to the side. One side of his mouth curled into a grin. Then, he winked playfully.

I gestured behind me. “Sounds like someone called the cops.”

He looked me over, but didn’t budge from where he was standing. “If I had any common sense, I’d leave,” he said dryly.

I glanced at Marvin, and then met the biker’s gaze. “But you’re going to stay?”

He took a quick look at my pussy and grinned. “Yep.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

Cash

 

In addition to housing our motorcycles and cars, the garage of our MC’s clubhouse acted as a repair facility for all personal modes of transportation. Ghost lowered the Mustang’s motor into the engine bay and checked the positioning. After satisfying himself that it was exactly where he wanted it to be, he looked up. “Like that waitress at the fish place in Oceanside?”

“No. This chick had some serious curves. Perfect ass, big titties, nice thick legs. And, she had good hair. Big hair.”

I conjured up an image of her perfectly round ass jostling up and down in her pajamas as she paced the driveway. My cock stiffened at the thought. I shifted my attention to Ghost and shook my head lightly.

He gazed at the engine for a moment, and then looked at me. “Was she built like Amy Betterman?”

Amy was a thick-legged cheerleader in high school that had nice tits and a spectacular ass. Although she sparked none of our interest during school, it was easy to look back at those days and wonder what was wrong with us when we were kids. The five of us would fight each other to get a shot at her now. Back then, all we wanted a girl who was built like a pencil and wasn’t afraid to put a dick in her mouth.

“Exactly!” I blurted.

“No shit?” His eyebrows raised. “She looked like Amy fucking Betterman?”

“Pretty much. But her hair wasn’t brown. It was kinda blondish.”

“It’s funny. When we were kids, we all called her BUTT-erman.” He reached for his bottle of beer. “We were fools. That was one fine bitch.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“So, you just left?” He asked. “You didn’t try to get in her pants?”

“She wasn’t wearing pants.”

He sipped his beer. “Pants, shorts, whatever.”

“Pajamas.”

One eyebrow raised. “Bra?”

“Nope.”

“Cantaloupe-sized tits in a pajama top without a bra, and you just left?” He looked me over and then coughed out a laugh. “I’m calling bullshit.”

“I told you, the fuckin’ cops showed up. While I was answering all the questions, some little short fucker escorted her up to the house. I didn’t see her after that.”

“He’s probably balls-deep in that shit right now,” he said stone-faced. “A big-dicked man in uniform is an irresistible combination.”

“Who says he’s got a big dick?” I asked in an irritated tone. “He might be hung like a mouse.”

“You said the cop was a little short fucker, right?”

“Yeah. He came up to her shoulder, why?”

“Little cops always have great big dicks,” he said matter-of-factly.

I crossed my arms and gave him a look of disbelief. “According to who?”

“Statistics. Little cops are always hung like mules.”

“Where the fuck do you get police dick data? Sounds like more of that fake news to me.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s common knowledge.”

“It’s common bullshit,” I said with a wave of my hand.

Accepting that a height challenged big-dicked cop was fucking her while I answered a barrage of questions was impossible. If anyone should have been fucking her, it was me, and not some lame-assed cop that barely came up to her shoulder.

I finished my beer and turned toward the trash can. “She didn’t seem to be the type that liked cops.”

“Looked like the type to find a clean-cut cop as a turn off, huh?” He chuckled, and then peered into the car’s engine bay. “She seemed to be more into ugly bikers?”

“I ain’t ugly, motherfucker.”

“You’re sure as fuck not pretty. Chicks dig a man in uniform, especially a cop. They see them as a protector. Someone who can rescue them. Keep them from harm, and all that shit.”

I was the one that rescued her, not the cop. I clenched my jaw at the thought of him winning and me losing. After a moment, I couldn’t take it any longer.

“Chicks dig rough looking fuckers like me,” I said, more to convince myself than to convince him.

He looked up. “If you say so.”

I couldn’t decide if the remark about Kimberly fucking the cop was meant to piss me off, or if it was truly what he thought had happened. Cops annoyed the fuck out of me, and if anyone knew it, he did.

We grew up in Great Falls, Montana, one hundred and twenty miles from the Canadian border. Be it my hatred of cold weather, the desolate countryside, or my desire to live somewhere that simply had more to offer, I decided after I graduated high school that I wanted to get as far away from Montana as possible.

San Diego, California was the clear winner. The city offered everything that Great falls didn’t. Weather suitable for year-round motorcycle riding, beaches, and two million people to hide amongst.

There were five of us that grew up together: Baker, Goose, Ghost, Tito, and me. We made a pact in third grade that we would remain inseparable. The fact that we moved fifteen hundred miles away – as a group – confirmed our loyalty to one another.

Upon settling in San Diego, we started an unconventional motorcycle club, and later added a sixth man – a military vet from Texas. Focusing on each of our individual strengths as small-time thieves, the club stole from those we felt weren’t worthy of their wealth. As we grew older and more experienced, our jobs became more complex. Now with more than ten years of experience robbing Southern Californian’s of their treasures, no one’s money was beyond our grasp.

Ghost was built like a professional body builder. He was the resident chief mechanic, go-fast guru, and the only member of the club that was willing to talk without chastising me for my thoughts. Although I was close friends with all the men, he and I talked about things I wouldn’t eagerly share with the other men.

“Maybe I’ll go by there and check on her,” I said under my breath.

“That cops probably taking a shower right about now,” he said without looking up. “Hell, he might whip your ass for nosing around.”

“No cop’s whipping my ass,” I assured him.

He straightened his posture, looked me over, and shifted his attention to the Mustang’s wiring harness. “Cop’s know all that pressure point stuff. Bet the fucker can touch your wrist with his thumb and bring you to your knees.”

I hadn’t had my ass whipped since I was in kindergarten, and he knew it. I choked on a laugh. “Bullshit.”

“He’d wad you up in a ball if he wanted to,” he taunted.

I twisted the toe of my boot back and forth on the floor between us. “I’d squash him like a fuckin’ bug.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. “Only one way to find out.”

There wasn’t a man on earth I feared, cops included. I tossed my bottle in the trash and turned toward my motorcycle.

He chuckled a low laugh. “Where you going?”

“Heading to Goose’s place.”

“Not going to stop by that gal’s house, are you?”

“I might,” I said over my shoulder.

“Better take a couple of the fellas with you,” he said dryly. “Just in case that little cop wants to protect what’s his. Might take three or four men to whip him.”

I didn’t need help kicking any man’s ass, and I was prepared to prove it. I stomped to my motorcycle and snatched my helmet off the handlebars.

“Pic’s or it didn’t happen,” Ghost shouted.

Baker, the MC’s president, came around the corner as I was lifting my leg over the seat of my bike.

“Pretty early for a beer run,” he said. “Where you going?”

I pulled on my helmet. “To take some pics.”

He looked at me the way he always did. Like I was an idiot. “Of what?”

“Little cops and big tits.” I buckled the helmet’s strap and fired up the bike. “In that order.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

Kimberly

 

Jennifer was once Oceanside High’s head cheerleader and all-around bubbly blonde bimbo. Now fifty and married with two adult children, she was reduced to being my ditzy blonde neighbor, sounding board, and best friend.

Short, and golden bronze from spray tanning, her athletic size four frame and D-cup boobs attracted the immediate attention of most men. Hair color and Botox treatments masked her age, and she could easily pass for being in her late thirties. When she was away from her husband, she acted like she was still seventeen.

She leaned against the edge of my kitchen table with her coffee at arm’s length. Her hands encompassed the cup like she was presenting me with a peace offering.

She blinked a few times, and then looked at me with dreamy eyes. “Like Dwayne Johnson?”

I peered over the top of my cup and gave her a confused look. “Who?”

The corners of her mouth turned upward. “Dwayne Johnson.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

“Dwayne Johnson,” she cooed. “The Rock.”

“The big bald-headed guy?”

She drew a long breath through her nose, and then exhaled softly. “Uh huh.”

If there was ever a woman who lived vicariously through others, it was Jennifer. Our conversations were often about men, and included detailed explanations of how she’d behave with them if she wasn’t married.

“No,” I said. “Not even close. More like Brad Pitt in Fight Club. Only taller.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not big.”

“He was big,” I assured her. “He had a presence about him, too.”

She gave me a side-eyed look. “If was skinny like Brad Pitt, he wasn’t big. I think this big thing was all in your head. You were drooling because he kicked Marvin’s ass.”

“I’m not you. I don’t need a man in my life. He was big, and he was kind. Those are the facts. There was no drooling going on.”

“Your senses were distorted.” She shrugged. “It happens to the best of us.”

“My senses were just fine.”

She pushed her coffee aside and leaned over the edge of the table. A serious look washed over her. “I screwed the quarterback of the football team at a house party when I was in high school. On Monday, when I was bragging about it in gym class, I compared his cock to my wrist. Half the girls I was talking to gasped, and said, ‘You must have fucked a different Jeff Simmons than the one I fucked, because that Jeff Simmons has a dick the size of a grape.’”

My eyes narrowed. “A grape?”

“A big grape.”

I chuckled. “And you thought he had a monster cock?”

“I was sure of it.”

I gave her a look. “Where are you going with this?”

“When I had sex with him, I was drunk. He was handsome, and the quarterback of the football team. So, in my mind, he was hung. In reality, he wasn’t. I think you’re wanting this guy to be some oversized muscle-bound hero. But, if he’s built like Brad Pitt, he’s a skinny twit.”

The biker wasn’t skinny, and he wasn’t a twit. To satisfy her, and to end the lop-sided conversation, I reluctantly agreed.

“Fine,” I huffed. “He was a skinny twit.”

“He sounds like a douchebag, too. What’d you say his name was?” She giggled. “Dolla Bill?”

I sighed dramatically. “Cash.”

She burst out in laughter. “Oh, that’s right. I knew it was something like Dolla Bill or Mista Money. But, Cash. Really? That’s ridiculous. He’s a wannabe. Probably uses the bike to get laid.”

I forced a sigh. “He’s wasn’t a wannabe.”

Her eyebrows raised. “He said his name was Cash. He’s a wannabe.”

“Maybe it was his last name.”

“Maybe he wanted you to think he was cool. Is he one of those guys that’s always riding up and down the street at midnight?”

“I think so.”

“They’re young.” One of her Botox-injected eyebrows arched a little. “How old was he?”

I’d wondered the same thing. With the scruff on his face, it was hard to tell for sure. By my estimation, he was in his latter twenties, or early thirties. Either way, he was far too young to be interested in me. That much I knew.

“I don’t know. Maybe thirty.”

She smiled. “A youngster.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Kind of.”

“Young and skinny,” she said. “Not my type. I prefer the bulging biceps, wide chests, and swollen traps of gym rats.”

Her husband was her height and weighed close to three hundred pounds. The only muscles he had were what he’d developed from simultaneously shoveling 7-Eleven’s chicken wings and chimichangas into his mouth.

I scoffed. “Frank’s not a body builder by any means.”

“That’s why I’ve got to drink three glasses of wine and take a Xanax before we have sex.” She tapped the tip of her index finger against her temple. “In my mind, he is – as long as I’m drunk.”

I finished my coffee and stood. “Back to what I was saying. It’s really bothering me that I didn’t get a chance to thank this guy. I think I said, ‘thank you’, but I can’t really remember. Everything happened so fast, and then the cops were here.”

She shrugged. “He might be one of those guys that’s always riding down the street at midnight. Maybe you’ll get a chance.”

I rinsed my cup and put it in the dishwasher. “I doubt it.”

The sound of an approaching motorcycle caused me to shift my attention to the street. I filled with nervous hope as the sound grew louder. The rumble from a Harley’s exhaust was something I’d become accustomed to over the years, as a group of bikers were constantly zooming up and down the block. I wondered, however, if each approaching bike would now bring butterflies to my stomach and a tingling in my nether region.

My eyes went wide as the black Harley came into view, and then pulled into the drive.

“Jesus,” Jennifer said. “It sounds like we’re being invaded.”

“He’s uhhm.” I wagged my finger toward the window. “He just pulled in.”

“Who?”

I swallowed heavily, and wondered what caused him to stop by on a Saturday morning at nine thirty.

“The skinny twit,” I responded.

She rushed to my side just in time to see him remove his helmet. Dressed in dark jeans, boots, and a faded black shirt that said Cars Suck across the chest, he looked every bit the part of the biker that he undoubtedly was.

He set the helmet on his seat, and sauntered up the driveway.

Jennifer flattened her chest against the counter top and peered over the window ledge. “He’s not skinny.”

“No,” I admired his confident strut. “He’s sure not.”

“He’s uhhm.” She swallowed and then let out a breath. “He’s sexy as fuck.”

He sure is.

As he disappeared from our field of view, she gave me a curious look. Then, the doorbell rang.

She flipped her blonde curls over her shoulder, and tugged her shorts out of her twat. “Let him in.”

I gestured toward the door with my eyes. “Go home.”

She coughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Go. Home.”

“Go to hell,” she said.

I brushed past her. “Fine, but you’re going to be quiet.”

“You won’t even know I’m here.”

I pulled the door open and smiled. “Good morning.”

I felt Jennifer’s breath against my left arm. I wanted to swat her like a picnic fly, but feared pushing her onto the floor might appear juvenile. As Cash pushed his hand into the pocket of his jeans, I took a step to my left and nudged her from his view.

“I wanted to make sure everything was alright.” He wrung his hands together. “Didn’t get to see you after the cops got here.”

“I’m just fine, thank you. The police were here until four in the morning asking questions, and having me sign reports. It was a long night.”

“I filled out a report, too,” he said. “They’ll probably see if our stories jive with one another.”

The sound of Jennifer’s heavy breathing reminded me that she was still present. I stepped to the side and wedged her between my hip and the side of the console table.

I looked at Cash and widened my eyes. “You can come in, if you’d like to.”

He stepped inside, glanced at her, and then looked at me.

“That’s Jennifer. She was leaving.” I shot her a look. “Say ‘hi’ before you go, Jennifer.”

She darted around me and extended her arm. “I like your shirt.”

His shirt?

Really?

He grinned and shook her hand. “Thanks.”

I gestured toward the front door with my left hand. “Goodbye, Jennifer.” I tilted my head toward the living room and offered Cash a smile. “Come on in.”

With the speed of a rabbit on crack, Jennifer slammed the front door, shot into the living room, and came to a screeching halt on the end of the couch.

Cash stepped into the room, and gave it a precursory look. Jennifer forced a fake yawn and arched her back, heaving her massive boobs toward the ceiling in the process. Mentally, I rolled my eyes at her theatrics. The only way Cash wouldn’t see her melon-sized mammaries was if he was blind.

For whatever reason, however, he didn’t seem to notice.

Cash – 1, Jennifer – 0.

I gave her a quick laser-sharp glare. She crossed her tanned legs, flashed me a grin, and then looked at Cash.

“Do you live down at the end of the block?” she asked.

He sat in the chair at the corner of the room. “No. One of the fellas I ride with lives down there.”

“When I hear you guys ride by, it reminds me of that show on Netflix,” she said. “I’ve watched every episode. I’ve always been partial to motorcycles and muscles.”

Jennifer was flirtatious and outgoing, but she was acting ridiculous. For the last four years, all she’d done was complain about the late-night window rattling caused by the neighbor’s loud exhaust. I sat at the opposite end of the couch from her and clenched my jaw tight to keep from calling her out on her fictitious claims of biker love.

“Paints a pretty fucked up picture of us if you ask me,” he said dryly. “Bikers aren’t really like that.”

“I think the ones that ride in clubs are,” she said. “The hard-core bikers.”

He glared at her. “Hard core?” He chuckled. “I’ve ridden a motorcycle every day for the last ten years. Our club rode from here to Connecticut last year. We ate gas station burritos and slept beside our bikes in rest stop parking lots, using our jackets for pillows. Six thousand miles in four weeks. We make trips like that a couple of times a year. How’s that for hard-core?”

Cash – 2. Jennifer – 0.

Riding across the country and using an asphalt parking lot for a bed sounded hard-core to me. My eyes shot to Jennifer, curious to see how she would crawl out of the hole she’d managed to dig.

“Hollywood always glamorizes the violence. It doesn’t surprise me that the show’s a farce.” She tossed her hair and gave him a semi-serious look. “If it bleeds, it sells, right?”

“I guess so,” he said dismissively.

“So, you ride in a club?” I asked.

He cupped his left hand over his clenched fist and nodded. “A small one.”

I studied him, wondering what he’d look like without the scruff on his jaw. The entire beard thing looked good while he was whipping my ex-husband’s ass, but the longer I looked at it, the more I wanted it to disappear.

Millennials with untrimmed facial hair that hung down to their chest ruined my desire to see a man use a beard as anything other than proof that he had a long, tiring weekend.

“Maybe the bigger clubs do things differently,” Jennifer said. “You know, like the Hells Angels.”

“If you say so,” he said dryly.

He brushed his hair to the side and looked right at me. “What?”

“Huh?” I muttered.

His eyes narrowed. “You were staring at me. Something wrong?”

“I was just…” I shook my head. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“You can’t start explaining something and then say, ‘it’s nothing’. What?”

“It’s nothing.”

He lowered his chin and raised both eyebrows.

I sighed. “Is the beard a permanent part of who you are?”

He stroked his jaw with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “I don’t have a beard.”

I pointed toward the hall bath. “You might want to go look in the mirror.”

“It’s not a beard.” He rubbed the sides of his face with the palms of his hands. “I just. I haven’t shaved in a while.”

“Is it common for you to go a month or so without shaving?”

“I think it’s sexy,” Jennifer chimed.

I shot her a quick glare.

“Depends on what I’ve got going on,” he said. “I’ll shave when I get time.”

“So, you’ve been too busy to shave? That’s your answer?”

“I’ve been saving barefoot women from being raped, and then checking up on them to make sure they’re doing alright.” He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned a smug smile. “Yeah. Been pretty fuckin’ busy.”

I’d become used to Jennifer’s in-your-face wit. Seeing his dry sense of humor was a nice change. Before I could devise a comeback, he continued.

He nodded toward me feet, which were bare. “You ever find your shoes?”

“They were beside the porch.”

He glanced at Jennifer. “She your little sister?”

“No, She’s my neighbor.” I shifted my eyes from him to her. “She lives across the street with her husband.” I looked at him. “We’re friends.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” she whispered in a snide tone.

He motioned toward the hallway with his eyes. “You mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Not at all.” I pointed toward the hall bath. “It’s right there.”

He stood, and then gave a nod to each of us before disappearing into the bathroom. As soon as the door latch clicked, Jennifer turned toward me and widened her eyes.

“He’s a-fucking-mazing. Holy shit, girl. He’s…” She shook her head while she exhaled through her teeth. “Sexy as fuck.”

“Not a skinny twit?” I whispered.

“Not at all.” Her eyes darted toward the bathroom, and then shot back to me. “Did you see his boots?”

“I did, but I didn’t look at them. Why?”

“They’re like, three feet long,” she whispered.

I grinned. “Probably doesn’t have a cock like a grape.”

“I bet he’s got a dick like a donkey.” She took another look toward the bathroom, and then grinned. “You should fuck him and then tell me about it.”

“He’s probably fifteen years younger than me.”

“Age doesn’t matter. Bikers love MILFs.”

I wondered if she learned that tidbit of information on Netflix. I shrugged, knowing there wasn’t much I could do to interest him in me, regardless.

“I’m not a mother,” I said.

“He didn’t come here to check on you,” she said. “He came here to fuck.”

The thought was laughable. “No, he didn’t.”

The bathroom door opened. He walked into the center of the room, checked his watch, and then looked at me.

“I need to get going.”

I realized that I’d clung to the belief that Jennifer was right, and hoped he was going to stay for a while. Feeling a little disappointed, I stood. “Okay.”

He glanced at his watch again, and then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. After rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet for a moment, his lips parted slightly.

“You want to go out tonight?” he asked. “Maybe get something to eat?”

I nearly fainted.

“With you?”

His brows knitted together. “Who else would it be with?”

My mouth curled into a guilty smile. “How old are you?”

His chin lifted slightly, as if he was proud of his intended response. “Thirty-one.”

I tilted my head to the side and widened my eyes playfully. “I’m forty-four.”

He pulled his right hand from his pocket and presented his empty palm. “If I had a cookie, I’d give you one. But, I’m fresh out.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

His eyes thinned a little. “To be cookie-less?”

“No, smart-ass. That I’m thirteen years older than you.”

“I don’t give a fuck how old you are,” he said. “I like feisty women. You stomped your ex’s nuts in the driveway. That’s pretty feisty in my book.”

I scrunched my nose. “You want to take me out because I stomped Marvin’s nuts?”

“Yeah. There’s other reasons, too.”

I cocked my hip and flashed a slight smile. “Like what?”

“You’ve got the second nicest ass I’ve ever seen.”

“Who had the first?” I snapped back.

“Some chick in fourth grade.”

I was playing second fiddle to a fourth-grader with an award-winning ass. I didn’t know if it was meant to be a compliment, but I took it as one. His delivery of it brought out the devil in his eyes.

Seeing it secured the dinner date. I simply needed to know how to dress. My eyes widened in wonder. “Would we go on the bike?”

“Yep.”

“Because cars suck?”

“Yep.”

“I’d love to,” I said with a nod.

“Seven sound good?”

I fought to keep from smiling. “Sounds great.”

“Alright, then.” He looked at Jennifer. “Nice to meet you.”

He gave me a quick study, grinned, and turned away. After taking a step toward the door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Almost forgot. You’ve got cool hair, too. That was the other thing.”

Then, he left without another word.

It was ten o’clock on a Saturday morning, and I felt invincible. I had a great ass, cool hair, and I was going on a date with a hard-core biker.

Cash – 4. Jennifer – 0. Kimberly – 3.


 

 

“Mister Prick” is LIVE!!!

Posted in $.99 Kindle books, Best Selling Romance, Dark Erotic Novel, dark erotica, ebook, ebook sale, Free sex, Kindle erotica novel, kindle romance novel, Kindle Unlimited, Kindle Unlimited Must Read, Kindle Unlimited Reads, Kindle Unlimited Romance, Scott Hildreth with tags , , , , , , , on January 3, 2018 by scottdhildreth

Attention!! “Mister Prick” is LIVE and only 99 cents!! This one is fast-paced, sexy, and intriguing as hell.

Jess has two weaknesses: a good martini and a confident man. She’s also got a big problem: if she doesn’t sell a car in the next two days, she’s going to be evicted from her apartment.

When Vince Devoe walks into the BMW dealership where she works, she’s drawn to his confident strut and handsome looks. During a test drive in a $140,000 BMW, she prays that he buys the car so she can pay her rent. When he tosses enough money into her lap to pay for the it in cash, she raises a cautionary eyebrow.

When he offers to buy her a celebratory drink, she eagerly accepts.

Little does she know, Vince Devoe doesn’t earn his money legitimately, and he only drinks one kind of drink.

Martinis.

At 99 cents “Christmas Dick” is one hell of a thrill for less than a buck

Posted in Scott Hildreth, sexy, sexy ebook, Sexy ebooks, sexy kindle, sexy kindle book, Sexy Kindle Ebook, sexy kindle read, Sexy Kindle reads with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 23, 2017 by scottdhildreth

Christmas Dick, my newest release is a certified One-Handed Read. You will need a free hand and a safe place for this one for sure, because when this biker crashes a Christmas party, it’s on like Donkey Kong!

Get your copy, find a place to hide, and let your hair down. The book will do the rest.

Link:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B078KSYLL5ChristmasDick

THICK, my newest release, is LIVE!!!

Posted in 2017 kindle unlimited, 2017 must read romance novel, Best biker romance, Best Kindle Unlimites Reads, Best MC Romance Series, Best Selling Motorcycle Club Romance, Best Selling Romance, Biker Books, Biker Erotica, Scott Hildreth, sexy ebook, Sexy ebooks, sexy kindle, sexy kindle book, Sexy Kindle Ebook, sexy kindle read, Sexy Kindle reads with tags , , , , , , , on July 28, 2017 by scottdhildreth

THICK, my newest Biker Romance novel, is LIVE! A standalone book with an HEA and no cliffhanger, you can’t go wrong with this one. What happens when the prison guard and the prisoner fall for each other? Find out here!

LINK: http://amzn.to/2tPdLcvcropped-thickebook

“RIGID”- HOT biker dad alert!!

Posted in 2017 kindle unlimited, 2017 must read romance novel, Adult erotica, Adult Romance, adult romance novel, Alpha male, alpha male romance, Amazon #1 Best Selling, BDSM, BDSM ebook, bdsm novel, Best biker romance, Scott Hildreth, sexy kindle book, Sexy Kindle Ebook, sexy kindle read, Sexy Kindle reads, SOA with tags , , , , , on March 23, 2017 by scottdhildreth

Grayson “Smokey” Wallace has one concern regarding females, his daughter. When it comes to relationships, he simply can’t commit. Having raised his daughter since birth, he fears any woman in his life may cause undue harm to his daughter if she leaves him.

And so unravels the tale and Smokey and Sandy, a mis-matched story of two people who meet, decide to have sex, and then go their separate ways.

Kind of.

This is a must read HOT erotic romance.

#1 International bestseller for a reason. I mean really, who wouldn’t want a hot alpha male biker who is a single father?

BUY LINK: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XRX75W5

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#sexy #sexyebook #hotdad #singlehotdad #bikerromance #bestseller2017 #bestselling2017 #mustread #steamyromance

 

 

 

“RIGID” is LIVE! Single Hot Dad Alert!!!

Posted in 2017 kindle unlimited, Best biker romance, Best Kindle Unlimites Reads, Free Kindle, free kindle books, free kindle romance, hot single dad, kindle romance novel, Kindle Unlimited, Kindle Unlimited Reads, Kindle Unlimited Romance, Kindle Unlimited Series, must read kindle unlimited, Must resad Kindle Unimited, Scott Hildreth, sexy ebook, sexy kindle, sexy kindle book, Sexy Kindle Ebook, Sexy Kindle reads with tags , , , , , , , on March 21, 2017 by scottdhildreth

My newest release, RIGID, is LIVE, and already a #1 bestseller. This book hinges around the live of single father/biker Grayson “Smokey” Wallace. He’s an outlaw 1% biker, and a devoted father who has a body to die for, a strong moral compass, and swagger that’ll swoon you with his first step.

Be forewarned, this book is a certified one-handed read, and will set your Kindle ablaze.

BUY LINK: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XRX75W5

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