Claimed by the Biker Giant (Maxine and Tank) novel Chapter 309

Tracey POV

Doom was good. He worked my body like a pro, reading my likes and dislikes quickly. He was a quick study and had me reach my peak more often than anyone else, though I have had few lovers. My last boyfriend was selfish, but not Doom. He ensured I had exploded at least twice before he reached his own release. I couldn’t resist having a go myself when he rolled us over, and I was on top. Running my hands over his pecs, hard, strong, he was all muscle. I appreciated his body when I had given him a massage before, but this was different. I have got to play with this body for pleasure, not work. I can separate my work from play. It was easy. Each time one of the guards got on the table for a massage, I didn’t think of him as a man, or sexually, but a body of muscles that needed.

The guys rushed to us, like pigeons on spilt wheat, faster than a seagull on chips, and not once thinking of Storm and Tempest.

“Hey, go easy, what about the others, like Storm?” I growl at Skunk when he tries to take the whole plate from Tracey, avoiding mine, which were the hot pies.

He looked chagrined, and took two, and went back to his seat. We offered the pies to Gramps and Storm before placing the plates on the table and taking some for ourselves.

“No more of those extra hot ones?” I asked, trying to locate one that looked different.

“Nope, just the one, when Skunk made that performance, we thought he had it, until I checked and saw it on your plate.” Tracey giggled, a soft tinkle, a new favourite sound, that I want to hear her make again.

“You and Tempest in on it?” I asked, and received a nod as the last session started, and all talk stopped. Tracey was nice, easy to talk to, and had a rocking body. I would say she was around five-nine, or five-ten. Obviously, she works out at the gym, maybe demonstrating what she wants Tempest to do.

We got another goal, and Tracey was up with me and Gramps, our happy twirling dance, before sitting down. Less than five minutes later, we got another goal, Tracey and I got up. but Gramps waved us to dance. It was too soon, and he was still catching his breath for our last one. We laughed and twirled, screaming out goal, before getting back on our chairs to watch the rest of the game. We ended up with four goals to one.

“Storm, are you ready for an update, maybe in the office, where we can peruse the map, as we explain where we are at?” I suggested after the replays of the goals, and the commentator’s description was over. It makes me laugh sometimes at the commentators’ opinions, some of which are stupid and not even close. The person obviously had never played the sport, or if they had, didn’t do it very well.

“Gramps, you want to join in?” Storm asked as he stood up, with Tempest in his arms.

“No, time for these old bones to hit the sack. Thanks for the offer, you can fill me in later, if you feel the need.” Gramps shuffled out the door, looking tired. It was enough that he got up and danced to three of the four goals, sapping his energy.

In the office, Storm placed Tempest in a chair, then reached for the map, laying it out on the large table and placing paperweights at the ends to keep it from rolling back up. Then he reached for Tempest, bringing her in closer to see the map. Tracey followed us in, more curious than anything else. She hadn’t been to the clubhouse, so wouldn’t know what it was like before we started, but if all goes well and she’s willing, maybe she could come and see the finished product.

I took over the briefing, explaining what was finished, what materials we still needed, that the pegging out of the driveway was completed, and that come Tuesday the first concrete truck would arrive, we would start with the paths around the clubhouse, and slowly work back to the road. We picked Tuesday because it would take a week for the other materials to arrive, and by then, the driveway should be ready to drive on. Most of the club members are out of the clubhouse; only those helping with the pour and the guards would be on-site.

“Storm, Tempest, what’s going on with Mr Dawson? Are you ready?” Skunk asked, and I looked over to Tracey, worried about how she would feel being put in danger like this.

“Level two, and ready for level one, we have stocked up on food and provisions, and can wait it out. If it gets bad or we are at higher risk, we will use the chopper and get out of here. Tempest is handling it as well as can be expected and is making her own plans for staying alive. As of this morning, she is wearing a bulletproof vest under her shirt. There is little more that we can do.” Storm gave us a rundown, and it sounded good.

“After I have finished the driveway, I would like to move back here. I would rather be here than at the clubhouse if we go to level one.”

“I would like that. We need those we trust around us at times like this.” Tempest jumped in, rubbing her arms as if she was cold, and I wondered if she was doing as well as we had been told. We talked for a bit longer before heading back to the lounge, where the sports commentators were still talking about the game, like, come on, how far can you dissect the game?

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