Page 25 of Biker Bride (Hell on Heelz MC)

His hands roamed over my body with a desperate need, tearing at the fabric of my dress. The sound of ripping cloth echoed in the stillness, and the cool air hit my exposed skin,sending shivers throughout my body. Reaching down, he undid his belt, and I braced myself for the assault that would follow.

“Fuck, Vince,” I moaned, biting his lip as he thrust his huge dick into me. “We’re gonna get caught.”

"I don't care," he growled, into our kiss. “I need you.”

As he pulsed into me, his eyes darted to the wine bottles lined up neatly on the shelves. With a wicked grin, he reached for one, a bottle covered in dust and cobwebs.

“How much do you think this is worth?” he asked, his voice dripping with mischief.

“I have no idea,” I panted, barely able to think straight.

“How about two hundred grand,” he said, and with a flick of his wrist, he cracked the neck of the bottle against the crate. The wine gushed out, dark and rich, pouring down my chest. He bent over, his tongue tracing the path of the wine, licking it off my skin. The sensation was electric, the wet wine cooling me while he had me so hot.

As my fingers weaved through his dark hair, he eagerly lapped up the wine from my cleavage as he moved in me.

“Vince,” I gasped, my body trembling with desire. “This is insane.”

He looked up at me, his eyes dark with lust. “You love it.”

I did. The danger, the recklessness, the sheer audacity of it all. It was exhilarating. Vince’s hands moved to my hips, lifting me onto the crate. The rough wood scraped against my thighs, but the pain only heightened the pleasure. He pushed my legs apart, his fingers digging into my flesh of my inner thighs as hedrove into me even deeper now, with the wild intensity I’d come to expect from him.

Our moans filled the cellar. The smell of sex mingled with the musty scent of wine and old wood. The rush of almost getting caught made it even more thrilling, and I was on the verge of pure joy. Vince was going nuts, his big balls slapping my ass as he was about to finish.

Right when we got to the top, the cellar door creaked open. I totally froze, my heart pounding like crazy. Melissa was in the doorway, looking absolutely disgusted.

“What the hell is going on here?” she demanded, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

I couldn’t help but smirk, even as Vince continued to move inside me. “Can’t you see? We’re fucking.”

“Get out,” Vince barked, not even pausing in his thrusts.

Melissa flipped out, turned red, and stormed out, slamming the door. Being caught by Vince’s ex heightened my pleasure, and I got off harder than ever.

Afterward, we lay on the cold floor, catching our breath. “That was close,” I said, a laugh bubbling up in my chest.

Vince looked at me, a wicked grin on his face. “You loved seeing the look on her face.”

I didn’t deny it.

“You can thank me,” Vince revealed. “I invited her down here. Made her think she had a chance.”

“You did not? That’s ballsy.”

Vince laughed. “I know you love these big balls.”

The danger, the risk, it was all part of the allure. But as we lay there, the reality of our situation crept back in. We were playing a dangerous game, one that could fall apart at any moment.

Because we didn’t talk about what would happen after the fake wedding. Vince was supposed to get his position, and I was supposed to go my own way. But with each passing day, the lines between real and pretend blurred further. I had no idea what any of it meant, didn’t know if Vince felt the same confusion that I did.

All I knew was that, for now, I was in too deep to back out. And as long as Vince wanted me, I was willing to play along. Even if it meant risking my heart.

Chapter 18

I wore my wedding dress, the silk and lace hugging me tightly as if it were a part of me. The dress was a fucking masterpiece, with delicate lace appliques on the bodice and trailing down the skirt. The sweetheart neckline framed my collarbones, and the fitted silhouette hugged my curves in all the right places, flaring out into a graceful train that pooled around my feet. The intricate beading caught the light, sparkling like tiny stars against the creamy fabric. It was a dress made for fairy tales, for real love stories, not for the charade Vince and I were pulling off.

But as I stood there, staring at myself in the mirror, a knot tightened in my stomach. The dress symbolized the lie we were living, the elaborate ruse. Each stitch, each bead, felt like a thread binding me to this deception. My reflection looked like a bride ready to embark on a lifelong journey of love and commitment, but beneath the surface, I was a biker chick thrust into a world that wasn't mine, pretending to be something I wasn't for reasons that were becoming murkier by the day.

Money. I’d wanted the money and the thrill. Money was evil and the rush of excitement was a monkey on my back. I tried to shake off the feeling, telling myself it didn’t matter. This wasn’t real. It was just a job, a role to play. When I averted my gaze from the mirror, the dress's weight bore down on me, serving as a glaring reminder of the intricate lies we had spun.

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