BUNDLE: Interracial Bad Boys MMF Threesomes - Aaliyah Jackson - ebook
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Interracial Bad Boys And Love Affair BundleTaking On The White BikersChantel gets a little too drunk at the club, and wakes up in the bed of an outlaw motorcycle gang member. Although she's embarrased at acting like a hoe, she decides to stay and kick it for a while, with no ride home she doesn't really have a choice. One game of strip poker and several drinks later, she finds herself the center of attention for the entire clubhouse. Soon she'll be taking on more than one white biker as she gives in to her deepest desires and does things she can never, ever admit to... Groupie: Taken By A Rap StarWhen Alexus meets up with her friend Desiree to go see their favorite new rapper, C-Rock, she swears to herself that she's going to finally let loose for once. Little does she know just how loose she'll get when she is called up on stage for a twerking competition, and finds herself grinding on C-Rock in front of hundreds of people!She loses Desiree, and her morals as she kicks it backstage with C-Rock and finds herself doing things that good girls don't do! Mark And MarcusWhen Desiree and her husband Marcus go on vacation to rekindle their love life, they're looking forward to a week of sun, sand and margaritas. Their plans get turned upside down when they get involved with Sarah and Mark, a young white couple who are more than willing to help them spice up their love life.When Sarah disrespects Desiree and makes it clear that she wants to steal her man, Desiree has an idea to turn the tables and beat Sarah at her own game... By using Marcus's not-so-secret desires to see her with another man, and Mark's lust for her, she's able to get them both into a hotel room for an interracial experience they'll never forget.The only question is, will Sarah find out her husbands dirty little secret or will Desiree get her cake and eat it too? My Forbidden Baby: A BWWM StoryWhen Trisha’s best friend Sarah asks her to be a surrogate mother for her, she’s caught in a sticky situation. Sarah doesn’t know that John, her husband, used to be Trisha’s lover.Putting aside her emotions to help her friend, she agrees. But when Trisha breaks down in the doctor’s office and can’t go through with it, John comes over to comfort her with a hidden agenda… to make sure she goes through with the impregnation, even if it means doing it his way!Trisha has always had feelings for John, but she kept them hidden away after he started dating Sarah. When she finds out John still lusts after her, their spark threatens to start a fire that could destroy everything she cared about. Despite it all, she finds herself giving in completely to her desires and lying to her friend as she is filled with John’s seed and made to carry his baby! 

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Table of Contents

Copyright Page

Taking On The White Bikers | Aaliyah Jackson

Groupie: Taken By A Rap Star | Aaliyah Jackson

Mark And Marcus: A BWWM MMF Story | Aaliyah Jackson

My Forbidden Baby: A BWWM Story | Aaliyah Jackson

Taking On The White Bikers

Aaliyah Jackson

Chantel runs an idle finger over the rim of her martini glass, her heart thumping in her chest. How could a woman not get turned on by a motorcycle? She thinks. She bites her lip, looking out the front window of the bar, to the machines parked out on the curb. They’re long and sleek, with engines promising power between your legs. The streetlights overhead give the chrome and steel a liquid sheen. Chantel takes a sip from her glass, imagining how it would feel, 65 miles per hour on the freeway, the wind blowing through her hair, the bike gently buzzing against her spread thighs.

“Chantel? You okay?” Tamika tilts her head into Chantel’s field of vision. “You want to talk about Marc? You were dating for a year. This is a major life moment, whether you want to admit it or not.”

Keeping her eyes to the bikes outside, Chantel sits back in her chair. The DJ, couched in a far corner of the club, switches songs, the tempo suddenly slower and strong.

“He cheated on me, Tamika,” Chantel says. “He’s a creep. I haven’t been happy with him for 6 months.” Chantel tosses her head back, finishing the last slithering drips of her drink. “Honestly, Tamika, I haven’t felt this happy in a long time. I’m only 23, I’m a hot young black woman, I feel like now that Marc is gone, that the whole world is open, like it’s a buffet just waiting for me to try everything, you know?”

Tamika nods. “Okay then, girlfriend,” she breaks into her trademark toothy grin, “lets get fucked up!” She raises a finger in the air to hail one of the servers buzzing about the club. “Two tequila shots for me and my newly-freed girlfriend!”

“To freedom and new experiences!”

Tamika clinks her shot to Chantel’s. “To freedom and new experiences!”

Her heart still racing, the air hot and buzzing with each breath, Chantel throws the shot back in a single gulp.

“Whoa whoa, there, Min,” Tamika says. “You’re five-foot-five and 110 pounds, you’d better be careful slamming drinks like that. You know they make them strong here. We don’t want another Pukesgiving on our hands.”

Chantel, catching gazes with the server that now seems to be hovering around their table, raises her finger for another. “First,” she says, turning back to Tamika, “Last Thanksgiving was bad because no one told me that drink was made with Jaeger, which was your dumb ass mistake. You know what happens when I drink Jaeger. Second,” she pauses as the server quickly darts in to nestle another martini glass in her palm, “I’ve lived in Marc’s shadow for too long. It’s time for me to open up my arms and accept what life has to offer, you know?”

Tamika nods, taking a slow sip of her appletini. “You know I love you, girl, but—”

Chantel stands, the seat accidentally toppling from beneath her. Not wanting to hear the “but” to Tamika’s sentence, she grabs her friend by the hand and drags her away from the table.

“No time to talk, bitch! It’s time to dance!”

A glass breaks behind them but Chantel doesn’t bother looking back. What’s a broken glass on some club’s floor when there’s a whole world, a big apple waiting for her to take a bite? As if by providence, the song shifts up tempo, the rhythm compelling Chantel to bounce on the balls of her toes.

“Ok, wow,” Tamika shouts into Chantel’s ear, trying to speak over the deafening music. “You’re already drunk, huh?”

“Fuck yeah I am,” Chantel says. “I had a few before you showed up. Let’s get some shots up in here!”

Tamika again leans in to say something to Chantel, but the words are lost in transit. Dancing to the song’s pulse, Chantel feels her body expand, melt into the very essence of the music itself. The words from Tamika’s lips fizzle and die in the newly-expanded air. Sweat trickling down her face, Chantel swims through a warm tide of color and sound, her body abuzz with every flicker. The last thing she thinks, ready to explore a whole new world, is who came on those motorcycles. Maybe they’d like a drink or two...

-

In her half-dreams, Chantel feels the vibrations of a motorcycle against her legs. She feels the wind fluttering through her hair, a breeze on her flushed cheeks. Then she feels something else, something a shade more delicious. Her thighs seem to melt out from under her, a force examining every inch of her naked skin. She sees a vision of a man’s chest, his muscles smooth and taut under her fingers, a dragon tattoo slithering over the hard flesh.

––––––––

The bedspring creaks like a needle in Chantel’s ear.

“Uhhh...” It feels like she spent all night doing crunches, her stomach cramped and tight. Sensations trickle in one by one before the world as a whole seems to come together. In the blackness, her eyes still clamped shut, Chantel hears a low murmuring sound, like a faraway stream. She breathes in and her nose is filled with the sting of stale cigarettes and spilled beer. A warmth rests across her chest.

“Mornin’ sunshine.”  A thick, heavy voice whispers in Chantel’s ear, pulling her eyes open. Chantel turns to the voice, still half in a dream, to see a squared jaw dusted with heavy stubble. Lips spread into an easy smile and green eyes ablaze in the morning light look to her.

“You’re all kinds of feisty, you know that?” The vibrations from his voice pulse down through the bed where Chantel lay.

This is the moment where it all comes flooding back to Chantel. The voice and the face and the cigarette-smelling room all come back to her. Chantel bolts upright in bed, instantly regretting the action. It feels like someone is driving nails through her forehead.

“Oh god,” she moans. “Did...,” she turns to the man laying in bed beside her. Dusty blonde hair falls down past the diamond studs in his ears. His shoulders have more muscle than Chantel has in her whole body. Chantel takes a deep breath, both to calm her brain and her stomach. “Did we sleep together last night?”

The man rolls onto his back and folds his hand behind his head. “You don’t remember, darlin’? Hm. And here I thought I was more memorable than that.”

“World War 3 could have happened last night and I wouldn’t know.”

The man laughs, a deep, chest laugh that shakes the whole bed. “Honey, what we did last night would make World War 3 blush.” He turns again onto his side, hand propped in his hand. His other hand slides up from the bed, his fingers dancing a little waltz over Chantel’s dark skin.

The sizzle of his fingertips against her brings another splash of realization. Chantel looks down from the bed to see her best club clothes—the hundred-dollar jeans and the silk blouse—crumpled on the floor beside the bed. A bra and thong hang from the nearest bedpost. Sucking in a panicked breath, Chantel looks down to the hand caressing her skin, bringing her to goosebumps, to see she’s completely naked.

The man raises his finger, curls a digit around her nipple. The motion makes her whole body scream with desire, a flash of hot lava overcoming her. Chantel exhales her held breath and jumps from bed. She grasps onto the rag of a bed sheet, trying desperately to wrap it to cover her breasts and butt. The sheet refused, doing little more than clinging to her stomach.

“Oh god,” Chantel says. “I... I swear this isn’t what I do... Pick guys up in bars.”

“You’ll get no judgment from me, love,” the man says through a smile. His eyes slowly wander up and down the curves of Chantel’s nude body, taking in the youthful bounce of her breasts.

Chantel swoops down to get her clothes from the floor, but it seems her brain is filled with wet sand. Suddenly top heavy, she loses her balance and falls back to a seat on the bed.

“Whoa there, little lady,” the man says. “I can give you a hand with that. There’s no need to rush.”

Chantel looks back over her shoulder. Their lone sheet now in a ball on the floor, the man lays naked. The view takes a breath from her chest and she pauses for a moment, hand reaching down to her jeans. Though not a bodybuilder, his physique suggests long days of physical work. The muscles in his arms and stomach make Chantel think for a moment what he could do... could he lift her? Do with her as he pleased?

“I get it that you’re a little embarrassed, but there’s no rush, love. My name is Jake, by the way.”

Chantel pulls her eyes from the V of his abdomen, pointing down to his... and gathers her clothes from the floor, trying to bend at the knees so as to protect what remains of her modesty.

“I’m Chantel,” Chantel says. Her mind racing, she’s surprised she even managed to say that correctly. “And its nothing against you, Jake, from what I can remember you were...,” Chantel pauses, her mind flashing with images of Jakes hands exploring her every curve. Even though the room is warm bordering on hot, she shivers. “You were great, but I really do have to go.”

Jake shrugs and rolls back onto his back. “If you say so, love. You’re welcome back any time.”

Jeans and blouse positioned over her bathing suit areas, Mind swipes her under things from the bedpost and pulls open the bedroom door. The fizzy crash of noise intensifies through the open door. With one final look back to Jake, wishing she could remember a few more details of the previous night, Chantel steps from the room.

The moment her foot crosses the threshold from the bedroom, all noise comes to a deafening silence. Chantel looks up from the doorknob to see a large room, tables dotting the floor, each holding three or four men drinking and playing cards. They wear leather and denim, each with emblazoned with a skull and spokes. A motorcycle—one of the ones parked in front of the club the evening before—sits in the far corner of the room.

One of the men closest the door, older with crackled skin and a white beard, smiles to see the woman exiting from Jake’s room.

“Well, boys, I say ol’ Jake did pretty well for himself last night, huh?”

The silence breaks in a pulse of laughter and commotion. Some of the men simply go back to their card games, their drinking. Others lean back in the wooden chairs, taking wide-eyed glares at the exposed skin of Chantel’s body. Chantel’s jaw drops open. Words pass through her brain too quickly for her tongue to make much sense of them. Though her lips move, she can only manage a squeaking moan. Her body goes cold, muscles tight.

With an audible gulp, Chantel sidles back through the open door. Her chest heaves panic breaths, the world a swirling mist of black and white. Quick as a flash, she turns back to Jake, slamming the door shut behind her.

“What..?” Chantel says through panic breaths. “What.”

“You don’t remember, do you?” Jake scoots up on the bed and sits crosslegged. If he’s modest about being naked, he makes no show of it, his member bouncing down to the bed.

“Obviously not,” Chantel says.

“Listen,” Jake says. “You came up to me at the club last night. You said you’d never been on a motorcycle before and asked if you could have a ride. I don’t usually give joyrides, but I said, ‘what the hell, why not?’ There’s worse things than a pretty girl sitting behind you on a bike.” Jake tries to chew the inside of his cheek to stifle a growing grin but fails horribly. “When I asked where you wanted to go, you said you wanted to go back to my place.”

With a heave, Jake stands from the bed. He spreads his arms, suddenly looking like the DaVinci drawing, the naked man in the circle. “This is my place. Welcome to the Clubhouse of the Gypsy Jokers Motorcycle Club.”

Chantel’s lip trembles. “M-m-motorcycle club?”

Jake bends down and plucks a pair of boxer briefs from the floor. With a little wiggle he slides them up over his thighs. “You know, I thought the motorcycles and motorcycle jackets out in the other room would have been a dead giveaway.”

Thinking of all the men out in the other room, drinking and playing cards, Chantel’s blood runs cold. “Did...,” she stutters for the words. “Were they in here too?”