The following excerpt is NSFW; blush at your own risk! May also contain triggers; please see the complete list of triggers for A Risky Prospect.


The fabric of my dress tears as Cliff yanks the top down to free my breasts. The ripping sound cuts through the air, loud enough that I swear everyone in the vicinity probably heard it. The vicinity being the River Reapers’ club house.

I always wanted sex so good, clothing had to be ripped. It’s a shame that my graduation dress is collateral damage.

Cliff thrusts into me, oblivious to the heat spreading through my cheeks. He wraps one hand around my breast, his other hand caressing my ribs, crossing my stomach, traveling down, down, down, until the pad of his thumb rests on my favorite nerve. As he gives it one quick stroke—like he’s plucking a note on a guitar, checking to make sure it’s tuned properly—my back arches and I forget that the whole club can hear us, that we just ripped my graduation dress. I fade into him, as in sync with another person as I’ll ever be.

There’s something about him that absorbs me without erasing me. We orbit each other, a symbiotic relationship. Especially when his hands are on me and he’s inside of me.

My hips match his pace, his hand rubbing over my nipple, giving my breast just the right amount of squeeze, drawing me closer and closer to the edge. Without me ever saying so, Cliff instinctively knows the key to me coming with him is his giant hands on my chest. He’s attentive like that.

I’m close, so close I feel like I’m dying. Every woman knows this agony: when you’re right on the edge but not quite there yet. I’m burning alive from the inside out with his match igniting me.

“Close?” he asks, voice rough. It’s always deep and smoky, a rasp that sends shivers through me and makes me wet.

I nod, forgoing words to focus all of my concentration into the final rub he gives me before moving both hands to my breasts. I moan. As long as he keeps doing that, I’ll be more than close. This one’s gonna be one of those firework shows, the kind that leaves me slightly dizzy, staring at the ceiling.

Except the sharp rap of knuckles on Cliff’s door yanks me right out of my happy place and reminds me of why I can’t focus in the first place.

“Olivia!” my roommate, Esther, calls. “We’re gonna be late. Vamonos!”

It’s the day I’ve been working toward for the past four years. In just a couple hours, I’ll officially be a social worker. Esther, too.

“Oh, shit,” Cliff says. He pulls out, but just as his crown brushes my clit, he shudders and lets go. The hot pulse takes me with him, a mini spark instead of the fireworks I’d hoped for, but I’ll take it.

I lay back with a smile.

“Shit,” he growls. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” I laugh. “I’m pretty sure this is my fault.”

“I’m the one who grabbed your ass,” he says as he pads away from the bed and ducks into the bathroom.

I sit up on my elbows. “I’m the one who wasn’t wearing any panties.”

Esther pounds harder. “Let’s go,” she calls, drawing out the two words. To think, a few months ago, my bookish roommate was the one dragging her ass, making me play time games so neither of us were ever late. Now she’s in a rush.

I glance down at my ruined dress and sigh. It’s not too big a deal, considering no one’s going to see it under my gown anyway. But still. I kinda liked it.

“I’ll get you a new one,” Cliff says, handing me a washcloth.

“I should punish you by just wearing my gown and nothing else.” I clean up as quickly as possible, then start hunting through his dresser for something else to wear. I don’t stay overnight with him in the club house often, but this winter I learned to keep extra clothing stashed in as many places as possible.

A girl never knows when she’s going to get dirty.

Or bloody.

I slip out of the remains of my dress and tug on the romper.

Cliff groans.


Instead of telling me, he closes the space between us and touches my hard nipples through the fabric. “You’re killing me,” he whispers, and I’m immediately wet again.

“I’m leaving!” Esther threatens.

“I liked her better when she was quiet,” I tell Cliff, grabbing my clutch bag. “Donny is a bad influence.”

He chuckles. “And vice versa. Donny was as cold as ice. I saw him smile the other day, and Esther wasn’t even in the room.”

“Please kill me if I ever change for a guy.”

His eyes drop from mine as he picks up his keys. He shrugs into his cut without a word. I wish I could have a moment to run my fingers over the stitching where the arms would be on a normal leather jacket, feel the silky patches and rocker that make him a member of the River Reapers. That make him a Sludge Specter. I pull the door open and come face to face with Esther.

“Ready?” I ask her.

She gives me a look—a death glare that is all Esther and zero percent Donny—and flounces away in her cornflower blue sundress and white canvas sneakers, the color and the dress complimenting and accentuating her long, dark legs.

I roll my eyes at my pale legs, mottled with scars and bruises. There’s also the scar at my hairline.

Cliff catches my hand, drawing me in for a kiss. His warm lips touch mine for a full second, then he pulls back. “See you there,” he says.

Nodding, I leave Cliff’s room and the other club rooms, heading toward the stairs that’ll take me down into The Wet Mermaid, the MC’s strip club and my place of employment. For now, anyway. After graduation, it’ll be a whirlwind of state job interviews and shopping for business casual.

I make my way through the club, my brothers in leather nodding at me and raising their glasses. Girls spin on the poles, and Vaughn mixes drinks behind the bar. Good thing it’s not anyone else. I don’t know where Mark—my boss and the MC’s treasurer—finds some of these girls. They can’t tell top shelf vodka from bottom.

As I exit the club, the heat hits me like a wall, humidity wrapping around me and wrecking what was left of my hair. Gotta love New England weather—it always jumps straight from winter into summer.

I spot Esther’s car, but she’s not in it. Glancing around, I scan the parking lot. Two minutes ago she couldn’t hold her horses, and now she’s nowhere to be found. Typical fucking Esther. Scowling, I grab a cigarette from my clutch and light up. At this rate, Cliff and Donny will be at the campus before we are.

A sob cuts through the thick air, and I whip around. I know that voice. I’ve heard my roommate cry at Finding Dory. I follow the sound, my fingers closed around the handle of the knife in my clutch. I don’t go anywhere without it.

Rounding the corner of the building, I nearly crash into Esther, who’s sagged against the wall, her ass on the ground, knees drawn to her chest. Her shoulders shake and her limp hand loosely holds her phone. Her face is dry, but her chest rises and falls in rapid breaths. She gasps for air, and I drop to my knees in front of her, taking her hands.

“Esther? What’s wrong?”

This biker princess doesn’t get kidnapped—she gets revenge.

A Risky Prospect
River Reapers MC, Book 2

Now Available

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Author: Elizabeth Barone

Elizabeth Barone is an American novelist who writes contemporary romance and suspense starring strong belles who chose a different path in life. Her debut novel Sade on the Wall was a quarterfinalist in the 2012 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. She is the author of the South of Forever series and several other books. When not writing, Elizabeth is very busy getting her latest fix of Yankee Candle, spicy Doritos chips, or whatever TV show she’s currently binging. Elizabeth lives in northwestern Connecticut with her husband, a feisty little cat, and too many books.

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