Size Queen: A Motorcycle Club Biker Romance (Size Matters Book 3) Read online

  Size Queen

  A Biker MC Romance

  S.C. Adams

  Copyright © 2020 by S.C. Adams

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  For my readers.

  Also by S.C. Adams

  The To Go Series

  Daddy to Go

  Husband To Go

  3 Daddies To Go

  Babydaddy To Go

  Single Daddy To Go

  Valentine’s Daddy To Go

  Big Daddy To Go

  British Daddy To Go

  Size Matters

  Size King

  Size Game

  Size Queen

  Irresistible Daddies

  Mister Daddy

  Contents

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek: Size Game

  About the Author

  About This Book

  Her curves are his property.

  I’m a plus-size model. One who makes thousands of dollars smiling and displaying my curves for the camera. But when I get pregnant by notorious biker Damon Abrams, what do I do? I’m a total idiot and try to hide it as best I can.

  Big mistake.

  When Damon finds out, he’s more than enraged. He’s ready to tear it all down.

  So what if he’s in the middle of a war with a rival gang? So what if it’s dangerous to be seen with him, and even more dangerous to be carrying his child?

  Damon wants what’s his … and he’s going to claim me and the baby no matter what it takes.

  Damon Abrams is the president of a notoriously dangerous biker club, but he wants his woman, and he’s going to get her. The lovely queen’s curves are just part of the attraction, and he’s going to make her even bigger … by putting his child in her belly! Bring a cool drink and a fan because the steam level is sky high. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always a HEA for my readers.

  1

  Noelle

  The sun is always bright in Florida, when it’s out. Fortunately, as the weekend begins, the clouds and the showers are steering clear of Miami and heading up the coast. It’s hot and bright, and I’m hopeful that I might be able to give my somewhat pale body a bit of a tan.

  I’m a model. I don’t look like what one pictures typically when they hear the word “model”—I’m big, beautiful, proud, smart, and confident, which goes against most norms in the modeling industry. I’m a plus-size model, and I usually model swimsuits. I love doing it. It’s basically my passion.

  My best friend/roommate, Sabrina Darby, shares the same passion I do. She, too, is a plus-size model. I’ve known her since we were juniors in high school, and we’ve been nearly inseparable ever since. I love her to death, but we’re definitely different people: I date guys; she takes guys home. I’m practically fearless, while she gets so anxious at times it makes me worry. She’s animated where I’m chill. We balance each other out fairly well.

  Our modeling agency decided to pick a biker shop called Raw Wheels to host an annual photo shoot over the weekend. The models are all slightly wary about going there due to Raw Wheels having a history of hosting gangs.

  I know very little about the activity going on at Raw Wheels before I get in the car. While Sabrina drives, she fills me in on some things on the way there. As I’m finishing up my makeup, I look over and notice her looking at her reflection in the rearview mirror for what seems like the hundredth time.

  “Why do you seem so nervous?” I ask Sabrina.

  “Probably because I am,” she admits. “I haven’t been to Raw Wheels in ages. And every time I go there, it’s the same story: I say I’m just going to flirt with a few guys, then a cute guy pours tequila down my throat, then he shoves his tongue down my throat, and I end up bringing him over to our place.”

  “Is that the only thing they shove down your throat?” I wonder impishly.

  “Ha-ha,” she says. “Those guys over there are actually dangerous. I really have to watch myself when I’m there.”

  “You realize you didn’t answer my question, right?” I prod.

  “And I’m not going to,” she says dismissively. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

  “Looking for a new apartment?” I ask, attempting to recall our conversation.

  “No, we were talking about Raw Wheels,” says Sabrina. “But for real, though, the rent at our place is too damn high.”

  “We’re in Miami, baby,” I remind her. “We live two miles from the beach. Of course it’s going to be expensive as hell here.”

  “We might want to move a bit farther from the coast, that’s all I’m saying,” she persists. “But anyway—I believe I was going to tell you about some of the… shall we say, ‘meat’ to choose from at this infamous biker bar. There are a lot of hot guys there, and your swimsuit is going to get wet.”

  “That’s a bold claim,” I laugh. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Do you want me to go through my list, or do you want to know about someone who actually knows about you?” she says cryptically.

  “Who ‘knows about me’?”

  “The owner of the shop,” she answers. “His name is Damon Abrams—he’s fit, sexy as all hell, and you’ll want to ride his face within three minutes of meeting him.”

  “Oh my,” I say facetiously. “Have you had him?”

  “Not me, no,” she replies. “I wish. He doesn’t really strike me as the ‘notch on your bedpost’ type. But I’ve seen him with girls before, and they always look like they’re in heaven.”

  “I’m sold already,” I say, continuing to humor her. “But if this Damon Abrams isn’t into just getting laid, why is he adamant about having a swimsuit photo shoot at his shop?”

  “Beats me.” She shrugs. “I assume the agency’s paying them to use his space.”

  “Yeah, I don’t suppose there’ll be too many bikers hanging around to watch us bright and early on a Saturday morning,” I muse. “It should be a pretty vacant house.”

  “You never know,” says Sabrina. “What I wanted to tell you, though, while we’re alone, is to be careful if Damon goes after you. He knows who you are, because he saw pictures of us together online and asked me about you.”

  “Really?” I ask. “Come on, I don’t buy that.”

  “Okay, don’t believe me!” she says. “He did ask me, though.”

  “Why have I not heard about it until now, then?” I retort.

  “Because you tend to go for more ‘relationship-y’ stuff,” she responds. “Which is fine—I hold nothing against your lifestyle, just as you don’t hold anything against mine.”

  “Right.”

  “Damon isn’t a player, but he’s a man,” says Sabrina. “If he likes you, he’s going to pursue you until he get
s you. I just think you should be careful… his shop has a bit of reputation here in Miami.”

  “What’s the name of the gang that goes there a lot?” I ask.

  “The Rolling Heads,” she answers. “I really can’t believe you knew nothing about them before today. They’re not vicious miscreants, but they can be dangerous if they’re pissed off… That’s why you need to be careful if Damon comes your way. Play hard to get.”

  “I can handle a few horny bikers,” I say as we pull into Raw Wheels’ parking lot. “Even if one of those bikers happens to own the bike shop. And besides, what makes you so sure that the owner is going to want me anyway? So, he saw a picture of me—”

  “Trust me,” says Sabrina. “I’ll be your wingman whenever I can, but he might wait until you’re alone to talk to you, so…”

  Since it appears we’re one of the only ones here, Sabrina and I take a few extra minutes to make sure we’re good and ready to go. We finally step out after a hoard of cars start pulling in and join us in the parking lot.

  In the shop, the set is there waiting for us. Several varieties of motorcycles, and a few other miscellaneous vehicles, are parked against a variety of backdrops and decorations, glistening in the Kino light. Thankfully there are dressing rooms in the back of the shop, so I am relieved there. I’m excited about the day ahead.

  My assumption that there wouldn’t be many bikers in the place so early in the morning is wrong. There are nearly a dozen bikers scattered around the place—some drinking coffee, some drinking beer. Some of the bikers are quite handsome, but none of them keep my attention long enough to warrant breaking my focus. I’m not here to flirt and get phone numbers. I don’t care how hot the guys are; I’m here to work.

  Unfortunately, the guys here didn’t get the memo. Even before the director or our coordinator can start the shoot, most of the guys here are hitting on me.

  Then, just seconds before the photographers are ready to go, the front doors burst open to reveal a man among boys, who walks in and grabs the attention of nearly every model, myself included. He isn’t simply handsome or attractive—he is straight hot.

  Once I can tell for sure he is practically staring at me, I begin avoiding his gaze. I am instantly nervous, and something tells me right away that this must be the owner.

  “That’s Damon,” Sabrina whispers in my ear, confirming my guess. “And he keeps looking at you…!”

  “Yeah, what’s the deal?” I chuckle.

  It’s obvious to Damon that he already has the full attention of the room, so he barely has to raise his voice to talk.

  “Morning, all,” he says.

  The room responds with a variety of morning greetings.

  “Welcome to Raw Wheels,” he continues. “I’m Damon Abrams, and I’m the owner of the place. I’m glad your agency chose us to host your shoot, and I can answer any questions you may have. Don’t be shy to say hi.”

  It is then that I choose to meet his gaze and risk the possibility of getting lost in his piercing eyes.

  He has some facial hair but not enough to hide the sexy grin that’s forming the longer I look at him. His hair is black, and his skin is tan. His mesmerizing eyes are blue like glistening water, and his nose and mouth look delicious enough to nibble on.

  Among many other qualities, he is also tall, muscular, and fit. He also has a number of tattoos I can see on his arms and back that his leather jacket doesn’t conceal.

  Sabrina and I dish about Damon and the other guys while we change swimsuits in between sequences. I can’t get over what a perfect specimen he seems to be.

  “I wonder how many tattoos he has,” I ponder. “He looks like he’s got a lot—more than a lot compared to those other bikers. I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me he’s in a gang.”

  Sabrina snorts. “Honey, he is the gang. Damon is the president of the Rolling Heads.”

  “Huh. I probably shouldn’t give him the wrong impression, then.”

  I often receive a lot of male attention, both off and on set. Today is no exception, and the flirting continues throughout the entire shoot. I let them get away with a half-witted quip or two, and sometimes I give it back, but I don’t let any of them go past a certain point.

  The only person that I want to come and talk to me is the sexy owner. I’m not sure if it’s the repeated attempts from lesser men that’s provoking me, but eventually my eyes begin to actively seek out Damon, hoping he might join the competition.

  Sabrina is constantly reminding me how Damon is the president of a dangerous biker club, and how that could either be really good or bad, depending on your outlook. I can’t stop thinking about him whenever I’m posing for the camera, and by extension the room. I try my best not to seem “inviting,” but whenever I know Damon is nearby, I can’t help myself.

  Sabrina claims that whenever I’m being shot, Damon has eyes only for me. I don’t get to witness much of Damon’s gazing at my body through the sea of camera flashes and horny bikers, but I believe her.

  Our shoot wraps for the day. I catch Sabrina near the bar after I am through changing back into my clothes, flirting with an attractive biker in his early thirties,. There are a few other handsome gentlemen poised nearby waiting to strike. I am really flattered, but I only want to find the president of the Rolling Heads.

  Then, with odd timing, Sabrina’s guy goes away and is replaced with the man I seek. Sabrina makes sure to get my ear before Damon had a chance to.

  “He might not be your type, but I think you should go for it,” she mutters to me. “His pursuit will be relentless. He’s been staring at you all day. It would be a lot of fun… live a little! Do it!”

  “Got it,” I say. “Who is the guy you’re talking to? Looked like you wanted to jump his bones.”

  “I want to do more than jump him,” she remarks. “And you should go have fun with Damon. He’s a business owner—make him buy you an expensive dinner.”

  “I’ll do it if you do that with your guy,” I say. “Who’s your biker?”

  “His name is Kace. He’s the club VP.”

  “Nice,” I say. “You think you two are going to hook up?”

  “Not sure,” she replies. “He’ll be here again tomorrow, so I’m taking the night to think about it. He sleeps around a lot from what I can tell, so… maybe I shouldn’t, you think?”

  “You can always wear a condom,” I say dryly.

  “True,” she agrees. “I’m going outside to smoke. You want to ride back with me, or are you going to go riding off on the back of Damon’s bike? I’ve got some condoms in my bag if you need some.”

  Before she can actually step outside or I can adequately respond, Damon advances forward, offering me his hand and his smile.

  “I just wanted to say that I thought you were terrific,” he says. “We’ve not been formally introduced, the two of us—Damon Abrams.”

  I shake his hand, feeling his soft palm and firm grip.

  “Noelle Foster.”

  “You’ll be modeling again tomorrow, I hope?”

  “Indeed, I will,” I confirm. “And you’ll be here too, I assume? I mean, you own the place, so… you can come and go whenever you want, of course.”

  “Right,” he laughs.

  I feel like such a fool for babbling, and rather than simply bite my tongue, I slowly retreat from the building and pull Sabrina out the exit with me.

  “It’s nice meeting you,” Damon says with a wave as we leave.

  “It’s nice meeting you, too!” I assure him. “See you tomorrow!”

  2

  Damon

  I wouldn’t describe myself as a man who gets anxious about much, but I am definitely antsy on my ride to the shop this Sunday morning. I’m planning on making an entrance this time. Rather than being there waiting for the girls upon their arrival, I decide that on the second (and last) day of the swimsuit shoot that I’ll show up and feed off the girls’ anticipation.

  Truthfully, there is only one girl I rea
lly want to see—Noelle Foster, the gorgeous, curvy babe with a killer body that looks both firm and soft. In a sea of nothing but blondes and redheads, it’s a good to see a nice brunette in the bunch. I want to run my hands through her long brown hair.

  As I park my bike in front of the shop, I can’t help but wonder if the day before was a fluke. Maybe I’d find one of the other models more attractive on a new day in new bathing suits.

  However, after just a few minutes of being inside and seeing the shoot in progress, I know that my feelings and desires stemming from the day before aren’t an accident. I am certainly enjoying the mass of half-naked women in my shop, but I’m specifically drawn back to Noelle. I can’t figure out what it is… I’m usually much cooler around women I’m interested in, but for some reason this girl is making me stupid.

  Some of my Rolling Heads are with me, as are some other fellas who knew there were going to be women in swimsuits walking around. Once they see that Noelle is the girl I have my sights on, they back off. I don’t even have to ask. I’m not sure if they stop out of fear or respect for me—I know they definitely don’t stop out of the kindness of their hearts. I can tell all of them want to get at Noelle.

  I totally understand why she’s making all the heads turn. She is obviously the top model at that agency. It’s her beauty, her style, her grace, and her natural charisma in front of the camera. The camera is pining for her, rather than the other way around. Describing her as simply “sexy” would be doing her a disservice.