Lauren couldn’t stop looking at her body in the full-length mirror of the hotel room bathroom. She was bare-naked, staring at all the lines that ran along her body. Stretch marks and scars, both old and new, mingled on the surface of her skin, painting a picture of her life.
Some of the scars that Jack had given her were now covered up by ink, starting at just below her breasts and billowing out across her abdomen. She’d gotten the tattoo a few weeks ago and it was still odd to have the knowledge that it would never wash off of her body, that it held a permanent spot against her heart. It was fitting, though, for it to be there forever.
It was of a canary, being freed from her too-small cage. Her yellow wings were outstretched to their full length, her head held up in victory as she escaped the confines of the metal cage, which had broken around her. In her eyes was a fierce resilience. The detail in her feathers made Lauren feel as if she could reach down and feel them. The tattoo artist had done such a good job.
Marc hadn’t seen it yet. She had fed him some story about waiting for their wedding night, able to convince him that it would make it that much more passionate and good; that they would wake the entire city with their screams. Marc had been completely impatient—and so, honestly, had Lauren—but he’d waited. Nothing more than heavy petting and make out sessions for him. Lauren had taken a few late shifts at the hospital so she wouldn’t have to explain why she winced every time she stretched her body in bed while the tattoo scabbed over and healed.
Now it was time for the unveiling and she was, understandably, nervous. Not because she was afraid of what Marc might think of her new ink. She knew that he would love it and he would likely convince her to get more.
But her last wedding night had ended with her in pain. And it was ridiculous, she knew, to think that Marc would ever hurt her the way Jack had, but there was still something keeping her in this room, looking at her naked form. He had seen all her scars before, had traced her stretch marks with his tongue, had licked food from her chubby rolls…but rarely had that happened in the light.
She wondered if he would still find her as beautiful as he did a year ago.
There was only one way to find out.
Unlike her previous wedding night, Lauren didn’t have any fancy lingerie for Marc to rip apart. She didn’t want anything hiding her gift for him. She wanted to be bare for him.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the bathroom, still hiding herself behind it. “Are you ready?” she called out to her husband (her husband).
“Baby, I was born ready!” Marc growled in response. She could hear his impatience and it sent a shiver down her spine. She took another deep breath and placed one foot down on the carpet outside the bathroom. She heard Marc’s groan and smirked a little bit, inching her body slowly into his view. She kept her back turned toward him, sticking out her ass and shaking her hips for him a little bit, before stepping out into the open and baring herself to him, completely.
For a long moment, there was nothing but silence as Marc gaped up at her, his eyes wide as they stuck to the center of her chest. This time, however, his attention was not on her heavy breasts. Instead, she could tell that his gaze was on the canary and the broken cage, his eyes drinking in every tiny detail; from the way the bars of the cage hid her scars, to the outspread wings that looked as if they were holding up her breasts, to the date beneath the picture.
He stood up, just as naked as she was, and walked toward her, his eyes still focused on the tattoo. Once he reached her, Marc fell to his knees to get a better look at the date, his eyebrows furrowed as he considered it.
“What does this mean?” he asked, looking up at her.
“It’s the date I was freed,” she told him, her hand brushing his over the tattoo on her chest. “The day he was finally sent away,” she explained further. “The day that we were free to be together. The day you saved me.” Tears were in her eyes now and Marc quickly rose, taking her cheeks into his rough, calloused hands and pressing his lips gently to hers.
“I love you,” he said, pulling back. It wasn’t the first time he had said the words to her, but every time she heard them from his lips, Lauren’s heart sang a little happy song and she felt like dancing.
“I love you, too,” she replied, trying not to choke on the tears clogging her throat. They were joyful tears, though; happier than she ever thought she was capable of.
Marc lifted her, for the millionth time—though it felt like the first—and carried her to the bed, sitting her down on the edge of the mattress. His lips left her, raining kisses down on her cheeks, her eyelids, her chin, her nose, her neck, her collarbones…
He moved down her body, covering every inch of her shoulders with his lips and tongue and teeth, before reaching her breasts and taking each peak into his mouth, sucking gently like he was worshipping at the altar of her body. Lauren moaned and felt herself become impossibly wet as she ran her finger through his hair, which was still spiky with the gel he’d put into it for the wedding. She had since mussed it, so now it was sticking up, making him look wild—like a tatted-up Tarzan.
Marc continued to move down her body, his lips tracing the lines of her tattoo. This time he pointedly ignored her other scars. He pressed a particularly long kiss over the date below the cage and nudged the place with his nose before moving on. Lauren’s legs spread of their own accord as Marc circled her bellybutton with his tongue, causing her fingers to clench in his hair, pulling at the short strands and encouraging him to continue down to where she needed him the most. He didn’t waste much time in getting there.
Marc’s tongue plunged into her with little to no warning and caused Lauren to let out a light shriek. She could feel the cockiness of his grin against her clit and she slapped his shoulder, but moaned as he continued his ministrations with the flat of his tongue over her. He stroked her clit once, twice, three times before plunging it inside her again and Lauren pulled her hands out of his hair, clenching them instead in the sheets on the bed. She threw her head back and slung her legs over his shoulder, gyrating up into his face in encouragement, muttering his name like a prayer on her lips.
She felt his arms band around her thighs, trying their best to keep her still, but she couldn’t stop moving. She was practically sobbing at this point, shouting out to the heavens as he brought her to brand-new heights that it seemed they had never traveled to together. His tongue wreaked havoc on her entire body, entering her and exiting her with such skill that she was certain he must have taken classes in it or taught classes or…oh, something that would explain this level of skill that he had. He was playing her body like a finely tuned guitar and she needed some kind of explanation for it.
As she reached her peak, Lauren’s vision went completely white and she swore, for a quick second, that she saw the pearly gates and felt the softness of clouds at her back. But when she came back to herself, she was lying on the sinfully soft hotel bed with Marc looming above her, a smile on his lips as he situated himself—and the heavy hardness that she could feel swollen against her clit—between her legs. She must have been giving him such a goofy smile in return, but she didn’t care one iota.
“That was…wow,” she sighed.
“Looks like you were right,” Marc replied; “waiting does make the heart grow fonder. And the nether regions.”
Lauren snorted and willed her arm to slap his shoulder, but it felt too heavy right then. He was lucky, she thought wryly.
Marc leaned down, pressing his lips to hers again, and sinking his tongue into her mouth so that it would mingle with her own. Lauren moaned and spread her legs wider until she could feel his shaft against her slit. She ground her hips into his, rubbing her wetness up and down his hardness, taking so much pleasure in the way he moaned and groaned and growled—oh how she loved it when he growled at her. It reminded her how much of an animal he was and yet how gentle he was still capable of being despite that.
When he bit her tongue, she nearly passed out. There was apparently no room for gentle tonight.
“Tell me what you want,” Marc growled into her mouth. Lauren could barely speak. She mewled, trying to make him understand, but he shook his head. “Tell me,” he demanded.
“Fuck me!” Lauren gasped, still grinding against him, feeling him grow ever harder against her clit. “Oh fuck, Marc,” she sobbed. “Please. I need you so bad.”
“Are you ready for me, baby?” he growled. It was another demand.
“Yes!” Lauren cried out. “I am so ready for you, baby. Please, Marc. Please…”
Without another word, Marc sunk into her, going so deep on the first try that Lauren was certain that they were no longer two separate individuals, but one entity, occupying the same space at the same time. It was physically impossible, she knew, but she was more than willing to believe it at that second.
Her arms raised, finally, and her nails planted themselves firmly on his back, scratching down and making him hiss out in a combination of pain and pleasure. She raised her legs and crossed them at the small of his back, encouraging him to move hard and fast inside her, feeling herself stretch around him and letting out moans and groans that matched his. The bed creaked beneath them and for a second Lauren worried that they might break the frame or the mattress or…
Oh, who the hell cared?
Marc’s hips pistoned into her, forcing her closer and closer to that edge, the knot in the pit of her stomach coiling tighter and tighter and tighter until…
“I’m coming!” Lauren shrieked, her nails digging into his back. “Oh fuck! Marc!”
“Lauren!” he roared, releasing inside of her with a few hard pumps of his hips. “Fuck!”
Lauren saw heaven for the second time and floated back to earth to find herself trapped beneath her husband’s body and not caring for a second. He was like a blanket on top of her, keeping her warm and safe and secure. He would never try to cage her or subdue her. He would only love her; only protect her.
No matter what.
THE END
Since taking leave from the Navy, Carter’s life has gone in a completely different direction, bringing him to Los Angeles at the exact same time and in the same place as a mysterious woman with long dark hair and curves that would fit perfectly in his hands. From the second they lock eyes, the electricity between them is impossible to deny, but Carter doesn’t have time to waste with the Navy pulling him in one direction and his bike pulling him in the other. Even if he can’t seem to stop running into this woman he only knows as ‘Liz’. Will he be able to resist the urge to take her to bed again and make a choice about where he wants to go?
Find out in the next romance novel. Available soon! Visit and follow Don’t miss out on Jolie’s exclusive updates and exclusive books. Sign up at: .
New Release Sample
Max Stormwell is out for revenge. After losing his father to the ruthless leader of a bike gang known as the Cottonmouths, he swears to end the life of the man who’s taken everything from him, Caesar Alvarez. When he returns to the town where his father was killed, he has only one place to stay; Carlisle’s Pub, run by Regina Carlisle, the beautiful owner and barmaid.
Regina is fiery and stubborn, but there’s something about her that Max just can’t resist—even if she tries like hell to resist him. They’re drawn together and it’s not long before the sparks between them turn into a ragining inferno. But is that really the best idea for either of them?
Find out in Jolie Day’s next romance novel: „OUTLAW: Hell’s Seven MC Biker Romance “. Sample on the next page.
Carlisle’s Pub was as packed as it always was on a Saturday night and Regina Carlisle was as prepared as ever—that is to say, not at all.
She couldn’t understand why—no matter how many times it happened or how much alcohol she ordered ahead of time—the bar always ran out before closing time at three AM. Every week, she found herself reaching into her own stash of scotch and whiskey and tequila and serving it to her customers, both old and new, for crappy tips and crass remarks about her ass. She didn’t expect much more out of a bunch of drunks, though.
When she was a child, her father had owned Carlisle’s and ran it with a skilled hand and an intelligent mind. She had spent many a night perched on her own stool, watching him mix drinks and joke with the patrons. Her mother worked there as a waitress, carrying drinks back and forth and running her hand over Regina’s back as she passed. She made Shirley Temples for her daughter and helped her out with any homework that Regina had spread over the bar in front of her. Regina’s father, Danny, would sneak kisses over the bar top and Regina would cover her eyes and stick out her tongue, calling them “gross”, but secretly she’d be watching through the spaces between her fingers.
Ever since she was a child, she wanted a love like that.
“Hey, baby, can I get a shot o’ whiskey over here!”
Regina blinked out of her thoughts and turned towards the gruff voice, sighing at the sight of one of her regulars smirking over at her. Jimmy Porter was one of the more recognized town drunks and he practically had one of her barstools molded to his ass, he was here so often. Regina found herself wondering where he got the money to drink from open to close, but she’d never really questioned it out loud. After all, he always paid.
“What have I told you about calling me that, Jimmy?” she sighed, reaching under the bar for the whiskey and frowning when she saw that there was barely enough for a couple more shots, despite the fact that it had been completely full just an hour ago. She bit the inside of her cheek and reached for his shot glass, topping it up for him.
“Your mom never minded,” Jimmy responded, fisting the glass and raising it to his eyes like it held the secret to life.
“I’m not my mother,” Regina pointed out, reaching for her own shot glass and pouring herself some whiskey. She might as well get some for herself before she completely ran out.
“That’s a shame,” Jimmy huffed, then raised his glass in her direction. “Here’s to Pam; God rest her soul.” Regina sighed and clinked the rim of her glass to his, before they both downed their respective shots. The burn of the whiskey felt good as it slid down her throat. It was always her favorite.
Her father’s, too.
Regina shook her head and took a deep breath. “Rest in peace,” she agreed, her voice soft and reverent.
Both of her parents had passed away within months of each other. Her father had died in a car crash and her mother had died of a cancer that had plagued her body for years. Regina was fresh out of college when she inherited Carlisle’s and instead of selling the bar—as many of her friends had suggested—she had decided to carry on her father’s—and grandfather’s, before him—legacy.
She’d learned, first-hand, how to pour and mix drinks and had even helped her mother as a waitress to pay for college. She wasn’t yet as skillful as her father, who’d ran the bar for over thirty years and went to school for bartending when he was younger than she, but Regina did alright. She’d been running this business for over half a decade now and she hadn’t come close to shutting down yet.
But that didn’t mean everything was easy.
She had yet to find a waitress that she liked—most of the ones that passed through her bar were young and just looking to make a little spending cash on the weekends; they didn’t take the job seriously and she’d often caught them sneaking sips on the clock, stealing from her—and her current girl was named Brandy (ironically). She had long blonde hair and even longer legs. She was as graceful as a ballerina, but often got distracted by some of Regina’s tougher patrons.
Regina was also certain that Brandy was the reason she so often ran out of alcohol before the night was up. As much as she’d tried to teach Brandy how to pour and how much alcohol was to be used in mixed drinks, she was sure that the blonde used too much. She’d chastised her about it several times, but Regina wasn’t exactly in a position to be hiring or firing anybody at the moment. Brandy, at least, was willing to work for a below-average salary and was a real hit with the guys that played pool in the corner.
In addition to the bar, Carlisle’s also had two rooms for rent on the second floor. Regina had grown up watching people climb up and down those rickety old steps in the back. Musicians and bikers and sometimes amorous couples—who only ever rented the room for a couple of hours at a time—were a staple in her life. When she was growing up, her father also hired a maid to come in once a day, after the last guests had left, to tidy up the room and switch out the sheets and towels in the bathroom. Her name was Barbara and she worked for less than she deserved, but Danny Carlisle had always given her a free meal and drinks and she’d been satisfied.
When Regina’s parents died, Barbara had continued to work until she could no longer stand on her arthritic knees. Regina still invited her to the bar for drinks on the house and dinner once a week. After Barb, though, she decided that a maid was unnecessary for work she could get done herself.
It was tough for a young woman to run a bar and inn herself, but she got through the work week and still had energy to stand for the long Saturday night shift, which would come to an end in about…ten minutes. Regina breathed out a sigh of relief and reached for a washcloth, starting the process of cleaning off the bar top.
“Alright, everybody,” she called, raising her voice as much as possible in the boisterous bar. “Last call!” The men playing at the pool table looked up and gave her their usual glares, but they finished off their game and she ignored the way money changed hands. Brandy made one last sweep around the room, returning with closed tabs and gave Regina her last drink orders. The older woman poured the last of her tequila and scotch into shots and lamented the loss, but welcomed the extra profits, shoving them into the pocket of her apron as she went back to wiping down the bar.
One by one, the patrons started to filter out of the pub and Regina felt her shoulders begin to relax with the release of tension as the noise began to dissipate and she felt herself breathing a bit more easily. It was always like this at the end of the night, when she finally got to relax on a Saturday night, instead of work. She didn’t really mind the work so much, but it could get overwhelming at times—especially when she was constantly running out of her own alcohol.
“Have a nice night, baby,” Jimmy said, slapping a generous tip down on the bar top and giving her a wink (which looked more like a twitch, honestly) and slipping off his stool. He had a surprisingly straight walk for a man who’s stomach contents were 60% whiskey and 40% bar peanuts, but he’d always been like that. And he always left a good tip. Regina plucked the fifty-dollar bill off the bar and slipped it into her back pocket. She watched as the last few patrons started to taper off and Brandy cleaned off the tables and shoved her own tips into her apron.
By the time she returned to the bar, Regina had already swept off the entire bar, tossing every piece of trash and peanut shell into the garbage bin she kept hidden away. Brandy handed over the dirty shot glasses and Regina placed them into the sink, to be cleaned the next day after her guests in the inn left and she cleaned the sheets.
“Have a good night, Brandy,” Regina said. “Get home safely, love.”
“Good night, Reg,” Brandy replied, getting her purse from behind the bar and hanging up her apron after relieving it of her tips. She folded them and placed them in her purse pocket.
Brandy was out of the door with three minutes to spare before Regina even had to lock up. She walked around the bar and grabbed the broom, sweeping up whatever mess was left on the floor. Thankfully, there weren’t too many spills tonight.
She was just starting to place the chairs on tabletops when she heard the door to the bar open and close and she sighed, turning around. “We’re closed,” she said. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow. Besides, we’re out of alcohol, too.”
“I didn’t come here for a drink, sweetheart,” a deep, gravelly voice said. Regina looked up at a tall, muscular man in a leather jacket and wearing several tattoos—and a gun at his waist—as he lifted his brow at her and gave her a handsome grin. She frowned at him.
“Then what did you come here for?” she asked, placing one hand on her hip.
The man pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket. “I need a room,” he said, placing his opposite hand on his gun. “And you’re gonna give me one.”
End of the Sample
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Disclaimer: is a full-length 200 page standalone bad boy biker romance novel with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger. Contains mature themes and language.
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