Rough to Ride

By: Justine Elvira

Note to My Readers:



I started writing Rough To Ride over a year ago. It was originally intended to be my attempt at a full-length biker novel, but after writing an extremely hot scene I realized my heart wasn't in the story. I loved what I had already written, but writing the biker genre is not for me. It needs to be left to the genius minds of my favorite biker authors.



After I stopped writing, several weeks went by and all I could think about was one specific scene I wrote and how much I loved it. Could I use it in another book? No. In my mind it was meant only for these characters. So what should I do? Well, I polished it up, added a little backstory, and decided to release it as a short, erotic story.



Rough to Ride isn't a full-length biker novel. You aren't going to get a love story, or an MC story with a beginning, middle, and end. This is a short story. 10,000+ words of a hot, sexy biker, and the woman he meets stranded on the road. It's sexy, lustful, and HOT. It's the fifteen-minute quickie every woman needs. So get on the back of Maverick's bike, and join him and Trixie on their sexy encounter.





Rough To Ride



Change.

Change is inevitable. It happens every day, whether we notice it or not. Some people like change. They embrace it with every ounce of their being and never look back. Others hide from it, hoping if they pretend not to notice they can live in their perfect bubble of denial, pretending the world around them is exactly the way it was the day before.

I choose to embrace it. Hell, I welcome it. I love the extraordinary life I've been blessed with, but doing the same thing day in and day out has never appealed to me. I want something different. I need the spark back. I need the feeling of adrenaline running through my veins at the thought of something new happening. I don't know if I need a new job, a new adventure, new friends, or a raging party. I just need something different.

In this town it's rare that someone doesn't recognize me for who I am, and actually treats me how they want to. It's been eight years since I got in my last bar fight, and it isn't because I haven't tried. It's just that everyone knows who the hell I am and stays away.

My man?

My man is the most amazing person in my life, but even our relationship isn't perfect. Every day is a different version of the same shit. I didn't grow up expecting to be a woman with no career who waits on her husband hand and foot, but that's who I am. I help with the business, cook, clean, and at night we fuck. The fucking is what gets me through the day. Just knowing he's going to take care of my needs, after a day of taking care of his needs, makes my pussy throb in anticipation. I'm usually wet before he even walks in the door.

Our sex is explosive. The only way I can explain it is it's like the fireworks on the Fourth of July with Santa handing out presents, while I'm blowing out my birthday candles and everyone is celebrating me. It's that fantastic. As great as it is, even we need to mix it up. There are only so many ways a person can have sex, so you have to be creative and experiment a bit. I love him with all my heart, but even I can tell when he's losing interest. Men are visual, and if you don't give them what they want, they might go out and find someone new. God knows he has enough women waiting around the corner until I fuck up big enough and he goes looking for new pussy.

Now, I'm not an insecure woman. I have a banging body, long, toned legs, curves to die for, and I know how to make my man happy, but even I've noticed the difference in the last month. He used to always have his hands on me. If we were in the same room together, his hands were touching a body part of mine. It was usually my ass or my tits, but sometimes it was my inner thigh, or the nape of my neck, or a caress of my cheek. In the last month he's barely touched me. I'm usually the first to touch him now in hopes it will turn him on, but I usually get nothing.

I know he's not screwing around on me, but it's only a matter of time before I catch him with some nineteen-year-old, bleached hair bimbo trash, fucking him and sucking his cock while I'm forced to not say anything.

Well, fuck that.

Something needs to change because I refuse to be that woman who lets her man sleep around on her. He won't be bringing other women into our bed behind my back.

My man's been gone a week. That's an entire week after almost a month of obvious distance in our relationship. Distance. That's something he and I have never had to deal with before. Sure, I've dealt with physical distance, but not the emotional distance.