Curvy Hunger (Raging Angels MC Book 2)

He’s the enforcer of the MC. She’s dedicated her life to healing. When she returns to her hometown, will their differences keep them apart?

One click this curvy woman possessive biker romance!

Trixie
When I left Heathcliff, I was a wild child.
Now I’m returning as a doctor—
Respectable, responsible, and trying to fit in.
When I collide with the local MC,
My wild days don’t seem that far away.
Stone is hard, sexy, and reminds me what freedom tastes like.
But will our hunger for each other consume us?

The men of the Raging Angels MC are possessive, protective, and know what they like—curvy women. One by one, they’ll learn what it’s like to fall into obsession—and love—with their women.

This is a Steamy Short Story Romance. No Cliffhangers. This is the second in the Raging Angels MC series, but it can also be read as a standalone. If you love short romances with steamy sex scenes and a happily ever after, then you’ll love this book.

They say you can’t go home again, and as I steer my cart through the supermarket aisles, I suddenly understand that age-old adage. I can feel their eyes on me—the girls I went to high school with, now all grown up, pushing strollers down the organic food aisle and whispering about me behind my back for old times’ sake.
The old me, the girl I was when I last lived in Heathcliff, would make a scene. She would call them out, maybe toss out a couple of insults about their obnoxious kids or their mom jeans. But all I have to do is look down at myself in my light blue scrubs and Crocs and I come crashing back to the present.
I’m not that girl anymore.
Now, I’m a doctor. Smart and respectable. A role model in the community.
“Trixie Chambers, is that you?” a high-pitched voice drawls down the aisle, making me grimace involuntarily as I turn to face its owner.
“Lindsey Mack, what a surprise.” I plaster on a fake smile as my former classmate trots toward me, shoving her designer sunglasses up to hold back her hair, which is dyed an obvious fake blond, and I would bet my last dollar that those thick waves are extensions.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, pulling me in for a hug. In high school, Lindsey was one of those girls who fit in everywhere. She was nice to everyone, even me and my rebellious group of friends. “It’s been ages.”
“I finished my residency at Oakwood City Medical Center and got offered a full-time job here at Heathcliff General.”
Her blue eyes widen, and she keeps a hand on my arm, her fake nails scraping my skin. “You’re a doctor?”
“A surgeon,” I say with a nod.
“Holy cow,” she gasps. Then, to my horror, she turns around and calls, “Fannie! Did you hear that? Trixie Chambers is a surgeon.”
Fannie Fisher (now Powers thanks to her marriage to high school quarterback-turned-car salesman, Jim Powers) was the leader of our high school’s clique of mean girls. She’s at the other end of the aisle, sneering at me as she gives me a once-over.
“Imagine that,” she says lightly. “Trixie the Tramp is still studying the male anatomy.”
My blood pressure rises, but I bite back any reply about how I had, in fact, once studied Jim Powers’ anatomy back when and feel just horrible that she has so little to work with these days, but that’s not something the new and improved Beatrix Chambers would ever say.

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