NUTS (Biker MC Romance Book 5)
Scott Hildreth
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Epilogue
NUTS
Scott Hildreth
Contents
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
Dedication
To the men and women of UMC Las Vegas.
Thank you for all the fabulous care.
Author’s Note
Every sexual partner in the book is over the age of 18. Please, if you intend to read further than this comment, be over the age of 18 to enjoy this novel.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.
NUTS Edition Copyright © 2017 by Scott Hildreth
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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Prologue
Fascinated at the feeling of having his thick cock in my hand, I stroked the length of his shaft anxiously.
Our lips parted, and he leaned away from me.
He locked eyes with me and pushed his jeans along his thighs. After adding them and his boxer shorts to the pile of clothes at our side, he stood before me completely naked.
I looked him up and down. The muscles of his tattooed biceps were tense and bulging. His wide chest paid perfect complement to his narrow torso. The scars on his hands gave hint to his protective nature, and he stubble that had grown since he last shaved gave him enough edge to create pause.
But. It wasn’t his outer shell that had drawn me so closely to him. It was his heart.
In short, he was my perfect man.
There was one thing I was versed on, and although it wasn’t all I had to offer, it was what I was comfortable giving him at that moment.
I desperately wanted to please him. I lowered myself to my knees and looked up. “I want you in my mouth.”
“You don’t have to--”
“Please?”
A slight sigh escaped him.
He took a step forward.
I licked my lips, opened my mouth, and ached in anticipation.
He guided himself toward my lips. I flicked the tip of my tongue against the precum that glistened from the tip of his cock. Fueled by the slightly bitter taste, I eagerly took him into my mouth.
I slid my lips up and down his thick shaft, taking more of him with each stroke of my mouth. With his scrotum cupped in my hand, I sucked excitedly, eventually accepting him into my throat fully.
I looked up, hoping to see satisfaction in his eyes. His head was tilted back and his eyes were fixed on the ceiling.
I reached behind him, gripped his bare butt in my hands, and forced what little of him that remained past my willing lips.
He drew an uneven breath and then met the gaze of my watering eyes.
“Jesus,” he breathed.
He reached for my head and pulled himself from my mouth.
My heart sank. “You didn’t like it?”
“You’re too damned good at it,” he said. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
“You liked it?”
He guided me to my feet. “Loved it.”
I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and looked at him wantonly, hoping that he’d somehow justify continuing our sexual adventure. I’d waited a lifetime for what I was poised to share with him, and I was afraid I could wait no longer.
I felt if he’d give himself to me, that we’d connect on a level that secured my presence in his life, and in his being.
A magical existence known only to those who truly belonged in each other’s lives. A feeling so difficult to define, that any combination of words would fall short of an accurate description. These were the things I was certain we would share afterward.
He lifted me from my feet and turned toward the bed. I sucked in a breath. He must have anticipated my desires, but it came as no real surprise. At times, it seemed he could read my thoughts.
I hoped this was one of those times.
I’m giving myself to you because I trust you.
Be careful with me, please.
You’re my first.
Chapter One
Joey
&nbs
p; I heard the heels of his boots on the tile floor long before he came into my line of sight. With my hope of sneaking out before he woke now crushed, I glanced toward the sound of his heavy footsteps.
Just inside the kitchen door, he paused and rubbed the stubble on his unshaven jaw. Still wearing the prior night’s jeans and grease-stained tee shirt, he looked like living hell. His closely cropped hair and muscular build made confusing him with the Marine’s stationed at Camp Pendleton easy, but he’d been out of the military for six years. His mind, however, was still at war with someone or something.
He fixed his tired eyes on mine. “You need to find a better job,” he said, his voice dry and raspy. “You’re not living here for god damned ever. You need to--”
My stepfather was impossible to reason with. When he was sober, arguing came a little easier, but still exposed me to the risk of revealing his red-hot temper. Nonetheless, I took the chance and interrupted him mid-sentence.
“It’s not like I’m lying around doing nothing,” I carried my cereal bowl to the kitchen sink. “I’ve got a great job, it’s just not good enough to support me. Yet.”
“This food’s not free. All this shit cost money. The lights, the water, the mortgage. Money I work hard for. How in the fuck am I ever going to retire if you stay here for fucking ever? I can’t afford to have you mooching off me for a lifetime.”
Finding a job that would support me wasn’t an easy task, especially with the high cost of living in southern California. It was frustrating and I was embarrassed, but it didn’t change the fact that for the time being I was barely making more than the minimum wage. I wanted to leave him and his violent outbursts more than anything, but if I could somehow double my income, I still wouldn’t be able to support myself.
I glanced over my shoulder. “I bought the cereal.”
“You put milk on it, didn’t you?”
“I paid for it, too.”
“Working at the parts counter of the fucking Harley dealer isn’t going to get you anywhere. I haven’t said anything for a while, but it’s high time you get where you can stand on your own two feet.”
My face washed with skepticism. I turned to face him. “Haven’t said anything for a while?” I couldn’t help myself. A laugh escaped me. “You bitched me out last weekend. Pulled the covers off me at two o’clock in the morning, screaming. Remember that? Probably not. Too drunk, huh?”
His jaw went tight. It was seven o’clock in the morning, and I’d already hit a nerve.
His eyes thinned. “Don’t you dare call me a drunk.”
He clenched his fists and took a step in my direction.
Planning my path of escape, I glanced to my left. “If you so much as touch me,” I warned. “I swear, I’ll call the cops.”
“You’re not going to talk to me like that, no matter how old you are. One of these days you’re going to learn to respect me, so help me god.”
He may have been my stepfather and guardian, but I’d never respect him. Having grown up without a mother more years than I did with one, it would stand to reason that I’d be attached to him. That we’d have developed a meaningful relationship, something that may even resemble a friendship. His drinking, however, brought on unpredictable acts of violence that prevented it.
Each time it happened, he later apologized.
But, nothing changed. He was who he was, and despite my begging that he quit drinking, he never so much as tried.
He took a few stumbling steps toward me. We’d been in enough fights that I knew what was next. A wad of my hair in his clenched fist and the back of his hand against my cheek for starters.
His weary eyes and awkward sense of balance told me he was either nursing a serious hangover or that he was still drunk. I took a step to my right, and he staggered in that direction. As soon as he did, I took off in a dead run to my left.
In a few long strides, I was in the living room. As I rushed past the couch, I snatched my purse off the end table and headed for the front door. Halfway down the sidewalk my pace slowed to a brisk walk. I knew from experience that he wouldn’t dare come outside. At least for the time being, I was safe.
While I fumbled to find my keys, I glanced over the top of my car. Sitting cross-legged in the driveway with a wrench in his hand, my neighbor glared at his motorcycle as if it had done something wrong.
Since he moved into the neighborhood seven years past, I’d been fascinated by him and his obnoxiously loud motorcycle. Most of the people on the block viewed him and Harley as annoying, but I didn’t share their opinions.
I found it laughable that our neighbors saw my stepfather as a former Marine war hero, and the biker as an annoying burden. Truth be known, he was a violent drunk, and the biker was exceptionally kind.
He was also smoking hot.
Strangely, he didn’t even seem to know it.
I gawked at him as I unlocked my car.
While I got an eyeful of his bulging tattooed biceps, he glanced over his shoulder and waved. “What’s up, Smudge?”
My mouth curled into a grin. “Nothing. Just going for a coffee.”
“Not working today?”
“I do. At 1:00.” I opened the door and glanced at my watch. “It’s only 7:30.”
“Got a minute?”
It wasn’t the first time he’d asked me to come help with something. My visits to assist him with motorcycle repairs wasn’t what initially got me intrigued with bikers or motorcycles, but it did get me interested in him.
I’d been fascinated with bikers and their two-wheeled modes of transportation since I was a child. My real father was a biker. Although I didn’t remember him, my mind was filled with stories. My mother told about how he made her laugh, the fun bike trips they would take, his amazing smile, his take-no-prisoners attitude, and the moral code that he lived by
He was a mountain of a man it seemed everyone looked up to. Then, one day, while he was protecting one of his fellow bikers in a bar fight, he was struck from behind by a member of a rival club. Later that night, an aneurism took his life. I was only two at the time.
My mother was left with a box of photos, most of which mysteriously disappeared. I had salvaged one, a photo of him, his brother-in-law, and their motorcycles. Before the photos disappeared, she would go through them and tell me stories about him until I fell asleep.
My job at the Harley-Davidson dealer in San Marcos was a direct result of the interest that my biological father sparked. My neighbor and his retro Harley simply continued to feed my captivation.
“Sure.” I tossed my purse in the front seat and dove in the car.
As silly as it seemed to do so, I backed my car out of the driveway, drove fifty feet to his house, and pulled up alongside his motorcycle. I felt more comfortable being gone from the place my stepfather liked to call home. For me, at least for the time being, it was more like a prison.
I got out of the car and snuck a quick look at him as he stared at the bike. He was lean and muscular with random tattoos scattered over his arms. His chiseled jaw, broad chest, and handsome looks would all but guarantee him a spot in a biker television show or movie, but his lack of trust in mankind undoubtedly prevented it.
Dressed in his normal attire of tight jeans, boots, a white tee shirt, and his leather vest, he looked like he did on any other day.
Irresistible.
After soaking up a few seconds of his striking good looks, I tore my eyes away and shifted my focus to the motorcycle. “What’s wrong with it?”
Still gripping the wrench in his rubber-gloved hand, he wagged it toward the shiny black beast. “Lowering it a few inches. Need to change the shock, but I can’t get the bolt out without pressure on the suspension. Tough to sit on the fucker and reach underneath it at the same time.”
“Somebody needs to sit on it?”
“There’s only two people here.” His eyebrows raised slightly. “You need to sit on it.”
“Hand me the wrench,” I said flatly, struggli
ng not to smile as he spoke. “You sit on it. I’ll take off the shock.”
He chuckled and then motioned toward the seat. “Get comfortable.”
I’d sat on his bike several times in the past, once while he fitted a new rear fender on it. That particular day’s repairs took half the afternoon, and I enjoyed getting to know him better as the day progressed. When we were finally finished, he tried to pay me for my time, making the otherwise enjoyable event seem like a laborious task.
I didn’t know how old he was for sure, but I guessed he was about thirty. Having roughly ten years between us wasn’t a big deal to me, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he continued to see me as the off-limits awkward teenager I was when he moved in.
I raised my leg over the seat and sat down. I gave him my best sensual gaze, all the while trying to make my thin lips look a little fuller. “I’ll give you until 12:45, how’s that?”
He either didn’t notice or didn’t care. It came as no big surprise. I’d flirted with him for the past few years, and he seemed to have zero interest in me. I knew I’d continue nonetheless, hoping that one day he’d succumb to my carnal gestures.
He squatted beside the motorcycle and then reached under it. “Ought to be about five hours longer than I need.”
After a few seconds of hearing the wrench clanking back and forth he raised an oily piece of steel. “Nasty fucker, huh?”
I nodded. “Pretty greasy.”
He set it aside, pulled off his rubber gloves, and then opened the box that was sitting beside him. As I watched him, I wished I had the courage to tell him how I felt.
“There’s only two colors a bike should be.” He raised a chrome cylinder from inside the box. “Black and chrome.”
With my hands resting lightly on the handlebars, my mind had drifted to thoughts of riding on the glorious machine. I’d imagined it countless times, but was afraid to ask for a ride. In the seven years that I’d known P-Nut, I’d never seen anyone on the back of his bike.
“It’s pretty,” I said, immediately regretting the remark.
