Dirty Bastard: An Age Gap Biker Rom Com: WDMC, #1

By Echo Slater

A rom-com with bikers? Oh, yeah.

Age-gap romance between feisty heroines and their possessive heroes? Uh-huh.

Insta-lust? You know it! No slow burn friends to love bull here!

Cheating or other women drama? Nope, not going to happen!

 

Mike "Mad Dog" Teller didn't want a woman. His wild partying life with the Wet Dicks Motorcycle Club needed zero changes. He was content man until meeting Cameo Sutton. The sassy young woman puts the older man in his place, but she's only bluffing. Mad Dog is the sexiest bastard she's ever seen, and, of course, she can't get enough.

 

Enjoy the ride as Mad Dog makes Cameo his woman!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Echo Slater
• Release date: Jul 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9798224649006

Book preview

DIRTY BASTARD

ECHO SLATER

Copyright © 2021 Echo Slater

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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmosphere purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Cover

Image Source—DepositPhotos

Cover Copyright © 2021 Echo Slater

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Special Thanks

Sierra Glass

&

Judy’s Proofreading

TABLE OF CONTENTS

MIKE MAD DOG TELLER—SAME OLD SONG AND DANCE

CAMEO SUTTON—A GIRL LIKE YOU

MAD DOG—ANY MAJOR DUDE WILL TELL YOU

CAMEO—WHY CAN’T I?

MAD DOG—DREAMS

CAMEO—FIREWORK

MAD DOG—SLIP OF THE LIP

CAMEO—TIGHTROPE

MAD DOG—WANT SOME NEED SOME

CAMEO—LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

MAD DOG—IN THE AIR TONIGHT

CAMEO—YOU’RE THE BEST THING

MAD DOG—RUNNIN’ DOWN A DREAM

CAMEO—WILD SIDE

MAD DOG—NO ONE LIKE YOU

CAMEO—I’M ON FIRE

MAD DOG—FREE FALLIN’

CAMEO—AIN’T TOO PROUD TO BEG

MAD DOG—BURNIN’ FOR YOU

CAMEO—WONDERFUL TONIGHT

MAD DOG—THINKING OF YOU

CAMEO—HEAD OVER HEELS

MAD DOG—SHARP DRESSED MAN

CAMEO—BECAUSE OF YOU

MAD DOG—GIVE YOU HELL

CAMEO—ADDICTED TO LOVE

MAD DOG—WHAT IT TAKES

CAMEO—TELL IT TO MY HEART

MAD DOG—I’M ALRIGHT

CAMEO—WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

MAD DOG—JUST WHAT I NEEDED

CAMEO—BIG GIRLS DON’T CRY

MAD DOG — YOU OUGHTA KNOW

CAMEO—SO INTO YOU

MAD DOG—BABY, I LOVE YOUR WAY

CAMEO—THE FINAL COUNTDOWN

MAD DOG—WHO’S YOUR DADDY?

CAMEO’S EPILOGUE—SERENITY

MAD DOG’S EPILOGUE — HERE’S WHERE THE STORY ENDS

WET DICKS MC BOOK 2—DADDY BASTARD

PLAYLIST

ECHO SLATER INFO

MIKE MAD DOG TELLER

SAME OLD SONG AND DANCE

Playing bouncer at The Cherry, I get to choose which of the high schoolers’ fake IDs make the cut to grant access inside.

During the week, this dive is a strip club with a dozen ladies showing off their handfuls of flesh on micro stages. On the weekends, though, the local high school and nearby community college youngsters show up. They listen to shitty garage bands and get drunk enough to forget they live in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Most of the weekend crowd isn’t legal, but they all have shiny new IDs saying otherwise. Depending on how generous I’m feeling, they’ll get inside to drink the watered-down liquor and show off to their friends. Otherwise, I make them turn their asses around and get going. Sometimes, I make a mental count and blow off the fifth person no matter what their ID looks like.

Try-hards incoming, Cash says from his spot nearby.

My Wet Dicks Motorcycle Club brother ought to be inside the bar. Wearing his trilby hat down low over his blond hair, he’s clearly avoiding someone. My guess is the little redhead who thought his sweet-talk was for real. I probably shouldn’t have let her inside earlier, but she was number four. What could I do? I’m not changing tonight’s system over a random chick.

Besides, Cash ought to know better than to mess with a redhead. Gingers are naturally crazy. That’s just science.

Zip your meaty mouth, he mutters when I explain my thoroughly studied theory. You’ve enjoyed plenty of gingers.

Yeah, that’s where the studying part comes from. Those women are nuts. Am I right? I ask the scrawny nerd handing me the ID of someone who doesn’t look anything like him. Shell out for a decent fake ID and stop wasting my time. Okay, kid?

He tries to explain until I frown. I own a scary angry face. Everyone tells me so.

You couldn’t scare my mom, Cash mutters from his spot nearby. And she once pepper-sprayed a poodle.

Cash comes from money. His fancy-as-fuck family lives a few towns over with the other Richie Rich assholes. Cash never had a taste for extravagant living. No more caviar and racquetball after he rode his first hog and got sucked off by the kind of woman only found in the trashiest of bars.

More try-hards, Cash mutters when a herd of teen girls migrates toward us.

These younger chicks come in two flavors. There’s the sort in front of me with their caked-on makeup and helmet hair. By trying so hard to act like adults, they broadcast how young they are.

Nope, I tell number five.

Why? she whines and looks to Cash as if he might help her.

Have you ever sucked him off before? I ask, and she gets flustered. If you two share a cum history, I might let you inside.

The girl considers lying, but Cash is wearing his Oscar-The-Grouch scowl, and she lacks the courage to bullshit. Her friends choose to leave her outside while they go in.

You have shitty pals, I say as she stands nearby.

I’ll be the designated driver.

Hell, girl, I say, starting trouble out of boredom, if you have the fucking keys, just ditch them like they did to you.

No loyalty, Cash says, chuckling. Don’t listen to him. You wait out here for your stupid friends. That way, we don’t have to find them a ride home when they come out puking.

The girl rolls her eyes, revving up her bitch meter. I don’t blame her for feeling the way she does. I’d be pissed if my friends ditched my ass.

But the men of the Wet Dicks Motorcycle Club are loyal to a fault. I’ve been running with these guys for going on two decades. We’ve fought side by side. Fucked that way, too. Nothing I have I won’t share with them. Our lives are intertwined in a manner most families can’t claim.

However, I doubt I’d share the sexy thing inching her way in my direction. She and her cute friend acknowledge the pissed girl nearby. They’re not friends, I suspect. Just attend the same school. Ah, more high school chicks looking to get wild on a Saturday night.

Fuck me if this girl doesn’t own the kind of lips created to suck cock. With her blue eyes wide, she whispers to her friend and shuffles closer.

These two aren’t try-hard types. They’re dressed like chicks their age, making their attempt to fake twenty-one even funnier.

Sexy Lips keeps her long brown hair mostly hidden under a pale pink hoody. A thick lock cascades down her front, cuddling up to her luscious C-cups. I immediately fantasize about motorboating her tits. Why not imagine fun shit? She’s taking forever to work up the nerve to stop fucking me with her pale blue eyes and use her big-girl words.

I won’t bite, I murmur when she finally inches over to where I sit on the stool. Unless that’s what you want, baby.

Pink rises on her cheeks, and my dick thickens approvingly. She glances back at her friend, who nudges her on.

I wanted to buy something, Sexy Lips says.

Licking my lips, I wave my finger and lean forward. Whisper it in my ear, baby.

Her nipples look as hard as my dick feels. Breathing faster, she leans forward until her fat fucking lips are an inch from my ear. I inhale this chick’s peachy scent and enjoy her warm breath on my skin.

How much to buy Mary Jane?

She bites at her bottom lip while moving away from me. I say what any man would in this situation.

I’ll give it to you free if you wrap those pretty lips around my dick.

Her mouth pops open, wholly fucking shocked by such an obvious request.

No, she mutters and looks at her friend, who shrugs.

I’ll do it.

Her friend is cute, for sure. Pretty lips, too. Her big brown eyes size me up. This one is taller, more athletically built like the girls on the track team. Sexy Lips is a little shorter, curvier. Both chicks own the right ingredients to make a man hard. But Sexy Lips is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

No offense, girly, I tell Brown Eyes, but I want this one on her knees. Feel free to suck off someone else. I’m sure any other guy would appreciate your efforts.

The second chick frowns ugly at me, but Sexy Lips twirls the part of her hair unhidden by her hoodie. She’s giving me the once-over with her pretty blue eyes.

Can’t I just pay with money? she asks.

Are you a prude?

Yes, she says, offering a sly grin.

Are you legal? I ask, and Cash snorts nearby.

Our president, Grizz, has a philosophy about women. See, he claims the female mind gets mature as soon as it turns eighteen. Before then, she’s completely a kid and unprepared to be properly fucked by a grown man.

Let the baby dicks enjoy them, he said months ago when Cash unknowingly made eyes at a sixteen-year-old during the carnival. When she’s eighteen, she’ll have the right brain for what you’re packing.

Grizz holds strict views on all kinds of shit. His worldview isn’t up for debate. If you get on the wrong side of Grizz, he’ll send you packing. The Wet Dicks are loyal to a fault, but Grizz’s stubborn word is the law.

Is this happening or not? Brown Eyes mutters to her friend.

Baby girl, don’t get yourself tied in knots. If you’re that hungry for cum, Cash will whip out his dick. He won’t even waste time asking your name.

My club brother winks at Brown Eyes.

Let’s go, she mutters and tugs at her curvy friend’s arm.

Big Lips gives her luscious bottom lip another nibble while considering whether to bail on her teenage pot run.

Tell you what, I say, standing up and reaching for her hand. The sexy thing’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t yank free of my grip. Big Lips just stares, frozen with uncertainty. I don’t blame her for getting tongue-tied. I’m a fucking foot taller than her. Hell, I could bench-press this chick without breaking a sweat.

Tell me your name, I say, slipping a pot baggie into her soft hand.

Cameo.

That ain’t a real name.

Annoyance wipes away her fear. I even win a little sneer for my offense.

Want to know my name?

Is it Horse? she asks, smirking at the thought.

No, baby. He’s at home, getting sucked off by two chicks because his dick’s too big for one.

Gross, she says, and Cash laughs behind me.

I smile at her horrified expression. Chicks either love that monster-dick shit, or they get all insulted by the idea of it tearing up their pussies.

Cameo clearly wants to keep her sweet cunt tight. Well, she’ll soon learn life ain’t fair. Of course, I wholly intend to enjoy her snug pussy. Luckily for her, my dick’s big but not enough to tickle her tonsils.

How old are you?

Eighteen, she says while her friend blurts out, Twenty-one.

I lean down and smile against Cameo’s cheek. You forgot to lie. Now, I gotta wait three fucking years to let you inside the bar.

I’m sorry, she says, sounding genuinely bummed.

My hand still holds her as I brush my bearded cheek against her forehead’s soft skin. Cameo’s breath stills and her friend steps back. They’re so obviously over their heads here. Good thing I’m a nice guy, or else these two would be in a fuck-ton of trouble.

My club’s having a townie party at the Ranch next weekend, I murmur against her ear as she shivers. I want you to sneak your sweet ass over to see me. Can you do that?

Why sneak?

Do you think Mommy and Daddy will let you come?

Cameo holds my gaze and shrugs. What kind of party?

Not an orgy if that’s what you’re hoping, you little tease.

Cameo’s cheeks go bright pink again, and she tries to look at her friend for reassurance. My free hand cups her jaw, forcing her blue-eyed gaze to remain on me.

You don’t need her permission to say yes.

What do I have to do there?

Talk is all, I say, and Cash laughs again. I’m most definitely smacking him later. We’ll have a beer and a little reefer.

Cameo’s breathing is rapid, and her cheeks are bright pink. I’ve never seen a woman’s eyes get so bright and excited. That’s why I’m a little surprised when she rolls them.

Bullshit, she says, closing her hand over the baggie. If I show up, will you let me say no?

If I was willing to take what I want, would I warn you ahead of time?

Cameo holds my gaze, and then—God love her—she sizes me up with those eyes of hers. I’m about ready to turn around and give her a view of everything I’ve got to offer.

You have sexy eyes, she says and steps back. I know where the Ranch is, so maybe I’ll come over and look for you.

Man, I can’t hide my grin at how she puts on her big-girl panties and holds her own against more man than she can handle.

Thank you, she says as the baggie slides into her jeans, and I wonder if I’ll get to see the curves she’s hiding.

Be good, Cameo. I don’t want anyone wearing you out before next weekend.

Her brave stance cracks, leaving her high cheekbones bright pink. Oh, yeah, she’s already picturing me inside her body.

As Cameo returns to her car, I have zero doubts she’ll show up at the Ranch.

Next weekend can’t come soon enough.

CAMEO SUTTON

A GIRL LIKE YOU

My house on Willow Lane is updated inside with all the current cool design trends. Outside, the siding is stuck solidly back in the early 1980s. I’m not sure what decade the gnome statues are from, but my mom has accumulated an army of them. Arlene Sutton swears half were gifts. Out of my daughterly duty, I pretend to believe her. In reality, I assume she inherited her gnome fixation from my grandma.

Clearly, I must have inherited a taste for bad men. Why else am I on fire after such a short encounter with a sinfully hot criminal? Yes, he’s a terrible role model. I should stop imagining him kissing me and what he’s sporting in his dark blue jeans. No matter how many times I shake my head after arriving home, I can’t knock away the dirty thoughts infecting my otherwise rational brain.

You don’t really plan to fuck that grody guy, do you? Hagan asks as we smoke pot next to the window with the fan at our faces.

He isn’t grody, I grumble at her frowny face. You were ready to suck his dick.

I’ll suck anyone’s dick for pot. It’s not personal. Sucking dick is like mowing the lawn. Just a task to complete. No need to look up and see the face looking down at me. Close my eyes, licky, sucky, ball squeeze, and ta-da.

Giggling at her acting out her technique, I turn down the lights in the room. No way do I need my nosy neighbors to notice us at the window and snitch to my parents.

Men always want me to licky-sucky-ball-squeeze-ta-da them, I mumble, feeling the effects of the pot.

Wonder which parent gave you those lips?

I’ve never met my biological parents. My mother left me in a dumpster next to the CVS. Later, my dad, Phil, told me how the cops looked for her, but she was in the wind. I don’t know why I always liked that term. As if my bio mom simply turned to dust and floated away to freedom.

Your kids will have big lips, too, Hagan says when I forget to respond and just giggle instead. Wonder if they’ll hate you for it?

I’m not sure I want kids.

What about the biker hulk guy? If you keep making eyes at men like him, you’ll end up chained in a drug den breeding out babies.

We laugh at the thought. You’d save me. I have no doubt.

Yeah, just me and Phil busting through the door Delta Force-style and shooting hot bikers in the ass, she says, firing with her finger pistols.

So, you admit he was hot.

Swaying from the potent pot, Hagan shrugs. He wasn’t hideous, but he’ll be awful in bed. Lots of hair-pulling. No way will he be impressed by your virginal shenanigans. Trust me, Cam, he’ll want weird shit. I’m talking butt stuff, she says, counting on her fingers while she lists off gross sex ideas. I’m talking poo and pee play.

Those aren’t real.

Oh, they’re real.

Stuff in porn isn’t real.

Shaking her head, she sighs. You’re so naïve. I ought to pee on you right now just to prove it’s real.

Laughing, I slide to the floor with her as the pot takes hold of our coordination. Anything else besides him using me as a toilet and fucking my ass so hard I won’t be able to use one for a while?

Um, blood play.

Not real.

Breath play.

I don’t want to know what that is.

I ought to choke you out right now, little girl, she says and grips my hand as she starts swaying again. He probably has a giant, pierced dick, too. You’ll be torn apart, and I’ll need to hold your hand during your cooch-and-ass reconstructive surgeries.

Slamming my thighs shut, I think of the sexy biker. He smelled like black licorice, and I’ve always had a sweet tooth. It’s why I struggle to fit my ass in these jeans.

I can still feel his stubble brushing against my cheek and forehead. He’d been forward and a little gross with the blowjob talk but also playful.

I want him to be my first.

Who? Hagan asks, shoving down her jeans and seeming overheated. Did we ever get a name?

Wait, what?

His name isn’t Horse, and his name isn’t Cash. But what was his name, Cam?

I burst into laughter and blush bright red. I don’t know.

But he knows your first name. He can ask around and get your info. He’ll probably stalk you. Show up at your house and shake Phil’s hand and talk about bass fishing.

Why would they ever do that?

Because they’re the same fucking age, you fat-lipped nutter-butter.

Wiggling free of my pants as we sit in the now dark room, I try to imagine my dad and the biker fishing. You’re just angry he didn’t want you to suck him off.

Yeah, probably, she says and nudges my leg with her knee. He was hot. Shredded-as-fuck as if he spends his days pumping weights and gobbling steroids.

And his eyes were as dark as chocolate.

Hagan exhales hard. Bitch, get off your diet and just eat normal.

I can’t. I want to look good for when my cooch gets torn apart by the pierced-dick, steroid monster old enough to be my dad.

Well, when you put it that way, you really ought to add extra cardio to your routine.

What should I call the biker until I know his name?

Dad?

You offered to suck Dad’s dick for an ounce of MJ, I remind her while she laughs at her joke.

A knock at the door startles us into the corner. Laughing, we spray air freshener and turn up the fan until our hair is flying everyone. Finally, I walk to the door to pretend I’m not stoned.

Phil pops his head in. No glasses on my dad’s face since he’s preparing for bed. He smiles at us and then sighs.

Your mom and I would like very much if you could gossip in more hushed tones, so our fuzzy denial can better remain intact.

Sorry, Dad.

Stumbling over to us, Hagan puts on her sad