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Series: Rebel Wayfarers MC #6
Also in this series: Bear, Jase, Gunny, Mica, Slate
Genres: Romance, Fiction, Contemporary, MC, Erotica
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Also by this author: Bear, Jase, Gunny, Gunny, Mica
Davis Mason grew up dirt-floor poor in the rolling hills of rural Kentucky, escaping that life only to find himself adrift on the hard streets of Chicago in his teens. Determined to never again feel the sting of poverty and hunger, he is willing to do whatever is necessary to ensure he has enough power and money to make that happen.
Introduced to what seemed a perfect brotherhood within a motorcycle club, Mason is shaped and honed into a deadly weapon by their sadistic president. As he slowly works his way up the ranks to gain control of the club, he’s resolved to make it better…stronger, able to withstand any challenge.
Betrayed by his bloodline, he cuts all ties with family and begins the process of building a new one. Rising like a phoenix from the ashes of the club he destroyed, he founds the Rebel Wayfarers MC and surrounds himself with loyal, trustworthy brothers. Mason throws himself headlong into the hard job of making certain his brothers have everything needed for themselves and their families, and he works to balance those needs within both the well-mannered citizen world of business, and with the anything-goes biker world of the MC.
Flirting with happiness time and again, just when Mason believes it’s finally within his grasp, he’s torn between what he wants…and what he knows he should do. He finally has the security and family he’s always wanted, but will Mason ever find the love and passion he craves?
“When a man is denied the right to live the life he believes in, he has no choice but to become an outlaw.” – Nelsen Mandela
ARC provided by Author/Publisher for honest review.
Mason is the sixth book in the Rebel Wayfarers MC series by MariaLisa deMora, and has been anticipated since book one. I think we’ve all craved Mason’s story after meeting him in Mica. Then with every book since we have seen pieces and parts of the man who created the Rebel Wayfarers MC, but it wasn’t enough — never enough Mason.
So, now we have him in all his glory. And it is glorious!
I love Mason. He’s such a great character and finding out what really makes the man tick just made me love him more. This book absolutely proves what I’ve been saying since Mica, deMora’s books give you the sense that her characters are the MC lifestyle. And Mason is the epitome of the lifestyle.
Anyone that has read the first five books in the series has a pretty good grasp on who Mason is; not just the President of the MC, but the rock to his brothers and friends. When you read this book you will grow to understand the man and how his life brought him to where he is today. Everything from the way he grew up to the way he met each of his brothers and how he pulls the good from everyone he meets, it all makes you wish he were a real man so he could pull you into the fold too. I have big respect for the character and the author that created him. I’m actually pretty jealous that deMora gets to walk around with him in her head all day.
I know I haven’t really told you much about the book itself, mostly about the character, but the book is Mason and I couldn’t think of a better way to explain why this is a book you have to read. Five Rebel Stars and Five Soaked Panties for the president of the Rebel Wayfarers MC.
From Chapter 25: Strange bedfellows
“Hoss, talk to me.” His approach was always the same—simple, open, direct, and blunt—because he found the best results most often came when you weren’t worried about fluff, and didn’t try to steer the conversation.
“I wasn’t there, man. I left not ten minutes before she walked in, Prez. But, I know it didn’t happen at the club. Evidently, her bastard of an ex-husband found her at the motel where she’s been living. Best I can tell from reports is Gunny’s already wrapped things up with the dickhead. He and DeeDee are taking the girl to her house to meet up with Goose so he can take care of her, check her over.” Hoss knew better than to waste his time with pleasantries, and he appreciated the consideration.
“Okay, keep me updated as needed. I’m gonna try to get another couple hours shuteye. Text Slate and tell him to call me later if he can get a signal beachside, but let him know you talked to me, so he doesn’t worry.” Mason yawned, the hinges of his jaw cracking and popping. “Thanks, Hoss.”
Disconnecting the call, he set the phone on the nightstand, shifting to his belly and wrapping his arms around the pillow, tugging it towards and under his head and upper body. The position put his bare cock in firm contact with the mattress, and as his hips moved, he felt it stirring, responding to the pressure and texture gliding across his skin.
“Fuck,” he muttered. Shifting a little farther and arching his back, he remembered how it had felt to have Willa’s thighs wrapped around him on the bike, how her jeans-clad calf felt under his palm when he stroked down and back up her leg.
He had taken her to the wedding with the hopes of seeing how she would react when surrounded by hundreds of his brothers and friends. If she appeared the least bit skittish, if she had been hesitant or afraid, his path forward might be less clear.
She hadn’t, though. She seemed to be at ease, comfortable and chatty with members of his club family. Certainly aware she was under careful scrutiny, she responded to every question with collected poise, her answers honest and open as she comported herself admirably. Strong, confident, sexy as hell…she could be a perfect old lady for the national president of a powerful, nationwide MC. He shook his head, snorting at his thoughts. Stupid shithead, I just want to fuck her, not keep her.
Oh, yeah, he had wanted to fuck her bad that weekend. He made a humming sound deep in his throat, nearly a growl, because merely thinking about her made him want to fuck her; that was for sure. He had even half-ass planned to at the hotel, but when he called to tell her she would be riding up with him, something about the nervousness in her voice got to him. So he changed his mind, making reservations for two rooms instead. He thought about their encounter in the hallway, the way her breasts had pushed at the shirt she wore for sleeping, the way the skin of her shoulder felt underneath his hand.
If only she were here right now, he thought, and groaning, reached down and smoothed his palm up the underside of his now engorged cock. Rolling to his back, he slowly began stroking himself, and as he had the night after the wedding, he kept her chestnut hair and hazel eyes in his mind. Seeing her plump lips and imagining them wrapped around…he groaned again, folding his fingers around his cock more firmly, his other hand sliding down to cup his balls, pulling and tugging firmly at his sac.
In his mind, he undressed Willa, had her face-down on the bed, hands caressing the rounded curves of her ass. He imagined his hands on her hips, tugging her backwards and up onto her knees before he slammed deep inside her.
Hips thrusting his cock through his fingers, he bit back another groan. It was nearly torture to have a picture in his head of him taking her hard and fast from behind like he preferred, her breasts swinging pendulously with every thrust, nipples teased erect from friction against the sheets. Especially when he hadn’t gotten close to her pussy all weekend, unless one counted her sliding up behind him on the fucking bike, her heat and scent wrapping around him even at speeds of eight-five.
Can she come on my cock alone, or will she need my hands? he wondered, bicep bulging as his arm moved quickly up and down, the length of his stroke becoming erratic. Eyes closed, working the mushroom head of his cock, he watched the scene play out in his head, of his hand reaching out to wrap his fingers in her hair, tangling themselves in her curls. Stroking root to tip now, hard and fast, he visualized tugging firmly to pull her head backwards, exposing the sweep and angle of her neck. Using his grip to steady himself, he powered into her, hearing the slap of flesh on flesh. Dimly, he was aware of the mattress shaking, bedsprings complaining about the ferocity with which he was masturbating.
Please, she said. She was begging to come, whispering the entreaty over and over, and he slipped one hand under her belly, landing two fingers sharply on her clit, the snap of the slap and quick, rubbing pressure on the bundle of nerves pushing her over the edge. She tightened around him as she came.
His fingers tightened around his cock. He shifted back to short strokes, focused on keeping the rim of the head bumping over the calluses of his fingers, rough and wild. He groaned a final time as he came hard, hot streams of semen splashing high on his belly and chest as he drew breath in and out in gasping pants.
He lay there for several minutes, feeling the sweat on his chest and shoulders beginning to dry, his breathing slowly evening out, muscles gradually relaxing. Reaching down, he grabbed a shirt off the floor and used it to scrub the abundant evidence of his activities from his skin. You are so fucked, he thought as soon as he realized this climax from his hand was better than the last dozen he had shot off into voiceless, faceless pussy. “Keep trying to tell youself you don’t want to keep her,” he muttered, punching his pillow.
Rolling to his stomach once again, he sought the solace of sleep in his solitary bed. His dreams that night were filled with Willa, and in these illusionary scenes, he took her slowly, face-to-face, stroking her soft skin, murmuring in her ear of love.