🔥 HIGH HEAT WARNING! 🔥
Keep reading for an excerpt from Cutter’s Claim by Monique Moreau.
It arrives on September 22nd!
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Who needs more than bikes and willing women? Not Cutter. Until he meets Greta, a former biker princess who turned her back on club life. She challenges him every step of the way, and Cutter doesn’t tolerate disobedience.
Greta lives by one rule: No Bikers. She didn’t escape her father’s MC and build a new life for herself just to be brought down by a dirty biker. Not even hot, domineering Cutter could change her mind.
Cutter is ready to play dirty. In their battle of wills, he begins to master her deepest desires. Can she find the inner strength to submit to him? Meanwhile, a danger from the past lurks in the shadows—ready to pounce.
Cutter’s Claim is a steamy, standalone bad boy biker romance with plenty of heat.
Looking to ride in the fast lane? Rev it up with one click.
Beads of sweat slid off the woman’s flanks and drenched the bedsheets. Cutter rolled off her, floating on the high of a good fuck. It had taken the edge off. Tomorrow was the third Saturday of the month. Tommy’s day. Lying beside her, he cast a glance sideways and blew out a gust of frustration. It had been a mistake to fuck her twice.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted them on the carpet. Christ, his balls were gonna freeze off. Late March in Utica did that to a man. He glanced over his shoulder at Mandy, her chin propped on her hand, her eyes following his movements with greed. Her red-dyed hair matched the smear of lipstick around her lurid grin. Rolling onto her belly, she jiggled her pink ass at him. He gave her what she wanted, a sharp slap to each butt cheek.
“More, Cutter, more,” she pleaded.
Of course, she wants more. His rep preceded him wherever he went in the circuit of motorcycle clubs. He was a magnet for a certain kind of woman with a certain desire. It was common for brothers to deal with women wanting to be their old lady or baby mama, but he got it twice as bad. Women knew about a biker named Cutter, and his knack for satisfying a woman’s kink with singular talent. They vied to be one of his “speed-dial bitches.”
“The more you beg, the less you get.”
The energy roaring through his system crashed like a downed Blackhawk. Since Prez got sick, sex left a pile of rubble free-falling into the pit of his stomach. Bracing his arms on the futon, he pushed himself up. Even before Prez, his mind began to wander. He’d switched up his routine, amped up his techniques, but still, he was left worn out. For a man who’d turned thirty a month ago, that was wack.
Buck naked, he disposed of the used condom. He returned from the bathroom, moving around the space and releasing Mandy from the ropes around her wrists. A kiss on the crown of her head and then he gathered his tools. Following a ritual of cleansing, they were returned to their proper places in the drawers. Mandy’s lips drew down into a pout. She crawled toward him as he stood by the plastic drawer storage that doubled as a night table and grabbed his hand. Christ, her antics.
Swiping the underside of her breast, he instructed, “Time to go, babe, I got things to do. Be a good girl and drag your panties over that sweet, blistering ass. Make sure the elastic band scrapes up my marks real good.” He cupped the back of her neck and gave her a bruising kiss before turning his back to her.
In the bathroom, he twisted the lock. Lifting his head to the cracked mirror above the sink, Cutter took a hard look at himself. He scratched the prickly scruff on his jaw. Been a while since he’d shaved. His deep-set eyes made him look rough enough without adding facial hair. He liked to keep things easy. Chill, relaxed, mellow. Those were the words people used to describe him. Except in the bedroom, where he exercised absolute control over women. He was the yang to their yin.
Growing up in New York City, I used to walk the hot pavements in the melting heat of the long summers, and dream. Uptown to downtown, Eastside to the Westside, and underground to catch a subway racing out into the boroughs.
During my wanderings, my magic pencil spun out fantasies full of romance, with first meetings, heartbreaks, and reunions. Sometimes my boy crush (unrequited, of course) starred as the hero.
I grew up, and after a stint in art school, became a lawyer ‘cuz a woman’s got to live. I came from parents who fled to France as refugees, and as an attorney, I dedicated my work to helping survivors of trauma and persecution.
I believe in them. In their grit, in their determination to hold on, to pull through and, somehow, someway, to keep themselves, body and soul, intact.
Perhaps that is why I am drawn to writing stories of men and women who live through heart-rending pain, desperate yearnings and, ultimately, a place of redemption.
I, myself, fought the urge to get off the expected, safe path for a long time. Until one day I couldn’t go on unless I took a chance and made a change. I began to write, stopped, and began again … and again until
I gave in to it and here I am.
Come join me on my journey as a debut author.
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