Daddy Bastard: An Age Gap Biker Rom Com: WDMC, #2

By Echo Slater

A rom-com with bikers? Oh, yeah.

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

Insta-lust? You know it!

 

The one thing William "Horse" Ketchum wants less than an old lady is a kid. Should have kept his big dick wrapped up, then. Instead, Horse spent one wild night with the hottest girl he's ever laid eyes on. Well, now, he's about to pay the price and lose his heart.

 

Marina Van Zant picked Horse for her first lover—the one member of the Wet Dicks MC least willing to settle down. He's even less excited about daddy duty.

 

Horse might pitch plenty of fits over his new reality, but he can't deny what Marina does to him.

 

Enjoy the ride as Horse makes Marina his woman!

 

Daddy Bastard is the second book in the Wet Dicks MC series and only suited for readers 18+.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Echo Slater
• Release date: Sep 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9798224865406

Book preview

DADDY 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

Judy’s Proofreading

TABLE OF CONTENTS

WILLIAM HORSE KETCHUM—I CAN’T GO FOR THAT (NO CAN DO)

MARINA VAN ZANT—ONCE BITTEN TWICE SHY

HORSE—I WANT TO BREAK FREE

MARINA—NEW KID IN TOWN

HORSE—THAT SMELL

MARINA—MAGIC

HORSE—RUDE MOOD

MARINA—BREATHE

HORSE—DEAR DIARY

MARINA—STEAL MY SUNSHINE

HORSE—RUNNING ON EMPTY

MARINA—GONE DADDY GONE

HORSE—RUNAWAY

MARINA—LOVE STRUCK BABY

HORSE—DEVIL WOMAN

MARINA—WE ARE YOUNG

HORSE—THE KIDS AREN’T ALRIGHT

MARINA—READY OR NOT

HORSE—SWEET TALK

MARINA—MOTHER’S LITTLE HELPER

HORSE—RIDE THE WIND

MARINA—COVER ME IN SUNSHINE

HORSE—HEAD GAMES

MARINA—HOT N COLD

HORSE—SOMEBODY TOLD ME

MARINA—GO YOUR OWN WAY

HORSE—WHITE RABBIT

MARINA—FEELS LIKE THE FIRST TIME

HORSE—BACK IN THE SADDLE

MARINA—CHANGES

HORSE—DIRTY LAUNDRY

MARINA’S EPILOGUE—STILL INTO YOU

HORSE’S EPILOGUE—I DON’T WANT TO MISS A THING

WET DICKS MC BOOK 3—BULLY BASTARD

PLAYLIST

ECHO SLATER INFO

WILLIAM HORSE KETCHUM

I CAN’T GO FOR THAT (NO CAN DO)

My big dick is my defining quality. Been that way since the first time I tried sticking the thing in a girl, and she claimed it was too large to fit. I thought she was full of shit. Sure, I was sporting something bigger than the boys in gym class, but I’d never pulled out a ruler to check by how much.

The second girl to spread for me was older. When she got a look at what was in my pants, she flat out said no way and claimed I’d ruin her for all other guys. Like literally trash her pussy and make it useless.

Now, to be fair to my younger self, he thought those chicks were nuts. High school girls weren’t known for being all that much smarter than their male counterparts, and I was a fucking moron.

For example, I figured sharing my big dick concern with my mom might not turn into a dumpster fire. Yeah, I wasn’t bright at all.

Yeah, it’s big, but don’t go getting any ideas that you’re special, she said and gestured to where my old man stared at the TV like a barely alive slug. Your dad has an enormous dick, and you can see what good it did him.

Back then, as he wallowed in middle age, my father still had a head full of hair, decent looks, and a big dick. So, how had life drained him into a husk?

Children! They’re a virile man’s kryptonite. My father’s enormous dick helped produce seven kids, each one more of an emotional leech than the last.

As the first born, I came along when my parents still nursed dreams for their future. By the time my youngest brother entered the world, Bill and Jean could barely tolerate each other. I suspect his huge dick was the only reason they could still create kids while refusing to share a room.

I swore that would never be me. Wanting to get out of the house as soon as possible, I often got suggestions like I should strip or whore myself. I inherited my dad’s thick, light brown hair, which I kept long enough to slick back greaser-style. Chicks wet themselves over my wide shoulders and chest. They stared into my dark brown eyes and saw hours of fun. Being taller than the guys in school, I walked the halls like a stud surrounded by runts. But turning sex into a job never interested me. I also wasn’t looking to be a chump like my nine-to-five dad.

By the time I was nineteen, I had found non-cock related ways to make bank. Sold weed to community college stoners, peddled barely drinkable moonshine to drunks, and acted as a pimp for a few girls who required a meathead to shake cash free from stingy clients.

That last job was how I met Grizz and Hoot. The cousins founded an outfit called the Wet Dicks Motorcycle Club. One of the chicks I pimped for was like the third cousin-sister-wife of someone in their family. I never really got the gist of that relationship.

Didn’t matter. The two dark-haired, brown-eyed grumpy fuckers sized me up, got a feel for my skills, and had me come over for beers at their sweet setup outside of Barrow called the Ranch.

Soon, I got patched in and tagged with the road name Horse on account of being hung like one. I was officially one of the Wet Dicks.

For more than a dozen years, life was great on the Ranch. But two things will ruin a man’s easy life—women and kids.

First, Hoot fell for an exotic teenager with big tits and a bigger personality. When we hassled him for twisting up his entire life over her, our club VP bailed on the Wet Dicks and founded the Filthy Roosters Motorcycle Club. Half our guys went with him, leaving only six behind.

Good riddance to chick drama! I didn’t blame Grizz for refusing to bow down to the needs of his cousin’s dick.

Of fucking course, not too long after the cousins split, my president returned home from a ride and announced he’d met his woman.

Raqui was worse than Vivi! Knocked up five minutes after meeting Grizz, the mouthy blonde walked around the Ranch with an attitude. Couldn’t stand her. Their kid is worse. He leaves his toys everywhere, cries at the drop of a hat, and needs the world to revolve around him.

But Cross isn’t exceptionally awful. He’s just annoying like all kids. Like my siblings and me. Like everyone when they’re little.

And that’s why I can’t stand children. They don’t choose to suck. It’s like buying a loud toy and whining about the noise. Kids are designed to destroy joy.

All I wanted was for the Ranch to be like before—a dozen guys partying and playing football in the dark and fucking chicks for fun rather than to make new humans. Back then, life felt simple in the way it never was when I was growing up. Kids and women ruin shit.

And the domestication disease spread last spring when my club brother, Mad Dog, met a sexy high schooler with lips designed for blowjobs. He moved Cameo into his bungalow on the Ranch as soon as she graduated. Won’t be long before he pounds a puppy into her, and I’ll need to step over more baby toys.

On the hottest day of the year, I’m thinking about how the Ranch will change again soon. Raqui’s a few weeks from giving birth to a second shit-machine. Between her and Cameo, they’ll breed an army of destructive, squawking kids I’ll need to dodge.

Despite that realization, I’m in a great mood as I sit inside my comfy gray-shingle-and-stone bungalow on the Ranch. Tom Petty sings about Mary Jane as I enjoy a cold beer and think about the electric blue eyes of a living doll.

By the time I was thirty, I’d lost count of how many women I’d fucked. The Ranch was a constant party back in the day. I never kept a single woman around for breakfast with the guys in our community space dubbed the Hangar. None of those chicks became my girlfriend. I fucked them well, and they left the Ranch wearing a smile. After so many years, the women blurred together.

But one chick I remember. She’s on my mind again today. The beauty was as good a fuck as a man can hope for. I’d even considered keeping her around longer, but familiarity leads to boredom and eventually hatred. No matter how sexy and sweet a girl starts out, she can’t help turning into a bitter pill like my mom.

But I often find myself thinking about the girl with the electric blue eyes. She claimed her name was Marina. A lot of women partying at the Ranch lie about who they are. Some are even married and looking to blow off steam. Not like I give a shit about people’s life stories.

But I believe Marina was telling the truth. She claimed to be a virgin, and that turned out to be a fact.

I have zero doubts Marina will make a better man very happy one day. In the beginning, anyway. Eventually, they’ll start going through the motions until death seems like a sweet release. Love, marriage, and family always end in the same way.

As much as I think about Marina, I know I’m not a man capable of more than a night of great sex. Too many people push themselves to embrace lives unfit for their skillset. I used to wonder what my parents might have accomplished with their lives if they hadn’t married and created seven ungrateful kids.

My thoughts are disturbed by a car pulling into the Ranch’s smaller visitor parking lot.

The Wet Dicks’ thirty-acre property rests outside of Barrow. Most of the land is wooded. At the center is our common area—the Hangar, twenty identical bungalows, a pool, and a basketball court. Closer to the road and farther from the living quarters sits an open field where we party once a month with the townies.

Unannounced visitors at the Ranch are actually common. College kids often show up looking for weed. Horny girls geared up to get fucked well will arrive at all hours. No reason to be alarmed about a small SUV idling in the Ranch’s lot.

But the longer the engine remains on, and the person doesn’t emerge, the edgier my brothers get. We live a safe life out here. Even the cops leave us alone. No real enemies to worry about. Even the Filthy Roosters only prank us.

That doesn’t mean a crazy asshole won’t show up looking to cause trouble. Maybe the husband of a chick we partied with. Might even be a rival dealer thinking to make a big play.

Enduring the painful heat, I join my club brothers on the walk to the lot where the SUV idles.

Seeing us heading her way, the driver tries backing out. I can see enough in the glare to know a woman’s behind the wheel. Changing her mind, she pulls the SUV back into the spot and idles again.

We’re followed by the latest stray dog brought home by my club brother, Bishop. As soon as we near the vehicle, the red-coated canine starts whining and making circles around our group. I hear what Chucky does. The annoying-as-fuck sound of a baby crying.

The woman finally turns off the SUV and opens her door. I immediately hear more crying. No way is only one kid squawking.

But I don’t have any time to wonder about numbers. Not once I get a look at the sweaty blonde shuffling toward us. Her electric blue eyes take in the sight of the men lined up.

My president stands tall near me. When he asks who she’s here to see, Grizz might even be sweating she’s looking for him. Before Raqui, he partied just like the rest of us.

I could save him the worry. This one had barely turned eighteen when she partied at the Ranch. By then, Grizz had been hooked with Raqui. Already a dad, too. My president was locked down tight.

The guys around me are nervous. Not noticeably to an average person, but I feel it. Our greatest fear is a chick showing up with a kid and demands. We’re good about condoms, but shit happens. Virgins are known to inspire men to become careless.

But she isn’t here for pretty boy Cash or easygoing Bishop on my right. Or the recently hooked-up Mad Dog or the currently-in-heat Stoney to my left. No, Marina’s here for me.

Horse, you probably don’t remember me, she says in a weak voice.

Cash and Stoney start laughing immediately. Bishop’s chuckles are more subtle. I don’t blame them for finding this shit funny. If they were staring down the barrel at eighteen years of child support, I’d be right there pointing and laughing, too.

Though Marina’s been crying, her eyes remain as bright blue as I remember. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat. The blonde is nowhere as sexy as the night we met, yet just as beautiful. I assume having a kid wasn’t too hard on her.

I remember you, I say, having wondered if I’d see her again.

Marina holds my gaze and mumbles, I didn’t get an abortion.

Her words sound dumb. The kid’s screaming in the SUV. Hell, it sounds like she has more than one stuck in that warming vehicle.

I hear that.

I have nowhere else to go.

Oh, hell, no! Seeing her isn’t really a shock. As soon as I recognized her, I planned to fork over cash for the kid. That doesn’t mean I’m willing for her to bunk here.

Rather than explain shit, I just say, I’ll get you a hotel.

Marina breaks into sobs immediately. Like hardcore, painful cries. My bet is she had her emotional garbage locked and loaded, just waiting for me to piss her off.

The kids in the car—why are there so fucking many—howl at the sound of her crying.

You know, Bishop says, sliding his arm around my shoulders like we’re going steady, Daddy has a nice ring to it.

Ignoring my attempt to knock Bishop down, Grizz approaches a still crying Marina.

How old are you? Grizz asks, sizing up the petite blonde with her pale blue tank top and jeans shorts.

Shrinking under the weight of his dark gaze, she mumbles, Eighteen.

How old were you when that happened? he nearly growls, pointing to the SUV.

Oh, boy, here we go! My president has a very strict rule about never fucking a chick under eighteen. She can be a week shy of her next birthday, but seventeen is still too young. No wiggle room on the rule ever. That’s why Stoney’s got nowhere to stick his boner for as long as his little obsession remains underage.

Answering Grizz’s question, Marina whispers, Eighteen.

My dick was her birthday present, I mutter, sounding harsh enough to trigger another round of her tears.

Oh, Lord, Horse, Bishop says and playfully shoves me. It’s too hot for all this fussing.

He’s right, Grizz mutters. Let’s get everyone inside. They can stay in your bungalow until things get sorted out.

Hey, now, I grumble, nearly tackling Grizz as he stomps away. Why not stick her in one of the empty bungalows?

Over his shoulder, he gripes, You made this problem, meaning you’re responsible for supervising it.

Around me, the guys are having a fucking party. Rather than celebrating my sperm’s success, they're yukking up their boys’ failures.

How many babies you got in there? Mad Dog asks Marina, who stands around like a child whose mom forgot to pick her up after school.

Though I’m a little curious about the number, too, chatting up Marina in front of an audience isn’t an option.

Before she can answer, Grizz turns back and barks for her to drive up to my house and unload the kids. Best get inside and turn on the air conditioner before they bake.

Marina looks scolded. Her bright eyes find me, wanting help for the situation we made together. Except I gave her an out months ago.

I consider saying something to Marina. She’s been on my mind for a while. But this thing today, showing up like she has with screaming kids—why are there so many in that fucking car—leaves me in a foul mood.

The heat isn’t helping anyone’s disposition. Besides, the longer she stares at me, the hotter the SUV will get.

You heard him, I say when she won’t move from her spot.

Marina finally stops staring with her hypnotic blue eyes and gets her sweet ass into the SUV.

While she drives up to the house, I walk with my club brothers. Their enthusiasm is dampened by the sheer weight of the oppressive heat. Cash looks to be sweating out his body weight while Mad Dog literally starts panting.

As for me, I mosey as slowly as fucking possible to my bungalow to avoid what’s waiting for me. Just like I did as a kid after school, afraid to return to a house full of drama, squawking, and failed dreams.

Fucking hell, I should have worn a condom!

MARINA VAN ZANT

ONCE BITTEN TWICE SHY

Bishop was supposed to be my baby daddy. That’s how my mom planned everything out. Mad Dog was my fallback choice. Instead, I ended up dumbstruck by Horse.

When my mom was nineteen, she hit the jackpot by getting knocked up by Kenny Van Zant. Faren Miller thought the doughy showoff was no more than a fun guy with money to blow. But Kenny ended up being the lazy son of the layabout offspring of a steel baron. The Van Zant family likely has no clue how much money they have or where most of it goes. They’re rich enough to let the lawyers and money managers worry about the details.

When Faren turned up pregnant, Kenny shrugged and handed her the card of his family’s lawyer. Once I was born and the blood test completed, a sizable chunk of money was deposited in my mom’s account each month. I was her cash cow, meaning no more tedious jobs. Her career was raising Kenny Van Zant’s bastard daughter.

Though I’ve never met my father, his money offered me a comfortable childhood. As I reached my teens and the end of my support neared, my mom tried to land another rich baby daddy.

Chad Avery seemed like a safe bet—the only heir of a shipping tycoon, spent most of his time in his lavish mansion, addicted to attractive blondes, and claimed an allergy to condoms.

Eight months later, Faren gave birth to Chad’s twin girls—Sadie and Sofie. Unlike Kenny, Chad didn’t throw money at the problem. He fought with Faren over support from day one, repeatedly forced her back to court, and only gave in once the judge threatened him.

Then, in a one-two punch, my mom’s second baby daddy died not long before I turned eighteen.

And Chad wasn’t nearly as rich as his lifestyle painted. The twins’ father left behind a ton of debt and little for his heirs.

Faren panicked at her new reality. Getting pregnant again wasn’t safe. The twins took a lot out of her physically. She also felt overwhelmed by the amount of care they required. Fighting Chad left her emotionally wrecked. His death nearly crippled her mentally.

Soon, my father’s checks would stop, and we’d be living on whatever Faren had saved up.

But my turning eighteen also offered her an idea. No more trust fund kids with dubious wealth. She also wanted someone less likely to fight her in court.

Faren zeroed in on the men of the Wet Dicks Motorcycle Club. Her old high school friend, Gloria, suggested them after attending one of their townie parties and seeing how comfortably the men lived.

The Dicks enjoyed a steady income for decades. They lived as safe a life as criminals could.

Plus, five out of the six Dicks were without women or kids. Not even any known bastards running around.

Finally, Gloria claimed the club’s president was old school about certain things. The guys couldn’t fuck anyone under eighteen, no abuse, and they took care of righteous family.

What’s righteous? Faren asked as I sat silently during one of their conversations.

People who do right by them. You know, aunties or mothers. They’ll be real protective over any baby Dicks. I heard Grizz fucking dotes on his baby boy.

And how did I feel about their plans for me? Well, I tended to go along with what people wanted. Faren had always been a warm yet dominating mother. Giving in to her was easier than fighting.

After basically raising the twins, I also liked the idea of having a baby of my own. Mom pulled me out of school after Sofie and Sadie were born. If we didn’t get another source of income, I’d need to get a job to support them. Motherhood sounded better than working as a waitress or in an office.

Getting pregnant didn’t bother me. And I wasn’t really tricking these men. Not like I planned to poke holes in their condoms. The men could wear them and no baby. That wasn’t on me.

But I feared who my mom picked. Screwing large, tattooed bikers with tempers and criminal histories sounded dangerous. What would I do to even draw their interest?"

Flash your tits, sug, Gloria explained. You’re young and beautiful and have tits. That’s really all it’ll take. These guys like to party. I imagine they’ll fight over who enjoys you first.

Do I have to do them all? I asked in horror.

Wouldn’t hurt to get as much sperm in there as possible.

Knowing how to manipulate people, Faren suggested, Let’s pick a specific one and focus on him. You’ll gain more goodwill that way. Then, if his sperm doesn’t do the trick, you can attend another party and focus on a different guy. Can’t imagine you’ll seem ‘righteous’ if you agree to a train of bikers.

Practical, Gloria told my mom as if impressed.

Wondering how gross the sex would be with a bunch of man sluts, I asked Faren, Should I lose my virginity with someone good first?

No. With my luck, you’ll get knocked up by a gas station attendant.

But I don’t want my first time to be with someone gross.

Marina, you can find a good lover after you have a baby with one of those rich bikers, Faren said and then added, Besides, these guys are sexy. Gloria showed me pictures.

That’s when I got a look at the smoking hot men of the Wet Dicks Motorcycle Club. They were older but sexier than any guys I’d seen in my hometown of Garrison. While I couldn’t imagine them being interested in me, those