I left the club that night totally shit-faced. Early in the night was good, and I watched Cherri dance her two sets onstage. Then some middle-aged suit requested her for the VIP rooms. When he took her hand and followed her back, it took all I had to stop myself from following them and rip him away from her. I didn’t want his hands on her. I inhaled deeply to get right in my head and then ordered an Irish Car Bomb. Then another. And I didn’t pay the tab and leave until I made sure Cherri came out of that room, looking just as bewitching and beautiful as she had before she went in.
My dick was already half-hard as I climbed off the bike in front of the Cheetah Club. Plenty of cars and trucks were parked near me as I heard the faint thumping sound of “Woke Up This Morning” by Alabama, the Sopranos theme song. I entered the club and walked over to my usual little table in the corner and ordered a drink from one of the barely-dressed waitresses. The dark-haired beauty with the almond eyes was dancing onstage; her moves were faster, and she gyrated more than Cherri, but her dancing was just as alluring. She looked directly at me from the stage and smiled.
Whistles and claps came from the men sitting around the horseshoe bar as she ended her routine, shaking her upper body and jiggling her beautiful tits. “Give Destiny some applause. Isn’t she built like a brick shithouse, fellas?” Jay-Jay’s voice came over the speakers. Destiny left the stage, and the lights were turned down. “Now for our fiery, red-headed goddess… Here she is… Cherri!”
There she was. Her long red hair hung down in soft waves. A sheer, tight, green minidress clung to every soft angle and curve of her body. It didn’t hide her full, perky tits, her nipples barely a shade pinker than her skin. She wore a black thong that showcased her plump ass. An Audioslave song vibrated through the speakers, and she began to move her body. She danced around the silver pole with languid movements in her black stiletto heels. My eyes roamed all over her. She turned and shimmied her hips, providing everyone a beautiful view of that ass. I just wanted to sink my teeth into it and spank it a few times.
The melody of the song turned to a smooth guitar solo as she gripped the pole high, launching herself off her feet, flipping upside down, and spreading her long curvy legs into a split. I reached down under the table and pressed my palm on my stiff dick. The beast had a mind of its own. I sat still, my rational brain battling with that monster. I won. I downed my first glass of whiskey, and the curvy waitress brought me another.
I had one of my blackout moments that afternoon. The hard pounding headaches, sweaty palms, anger rising like bile in my throat. I never knew what triggered it. It came and it went. And then it came back again. I returned my focus to Cherri. She finished her first dance for the night. This time I wanted her in the VIP. To be alone with her.
He sat at the same table as he always did. I walked toward him. He slouched a little in the chair, his arms relaxed, one elbow on the small table; his hand cupped a half-filled glass of straight whiskey, no ice. I stopped only two feet from him, flipped my hair back over my shoulder, tilted my head, and smiled. “Hello, handsome. I’m Cherri.”
“I know. And I know that’s not your real name.”
My breath hitched at the sound of his deep voice.
“What’s your name?”
“Call me Gunner.” His voice was arrogant too.
“Would you like to follow me to the VIP room? Somewhere more private?”
He stood up and offered his hand. “Lead the way, Cherri.”
I reached out to take it. His tanned skin was a shade darker in contrast to my white skin. I sensed his eyes watching my ass as I led the way down the hall and showed him into the room with the black velvet couch. He sat into it, slouching again, his thighs spread so I could stand in between them. Another Audioslave song began to play through the speakers in the small dark room that smelled of sweet incense.
He watched as I swayed my hips slowly in a figure eight. I pulled my sheer dress up over my head; my breasts bounced from my movement. I turned around and bent over to give him a splendid view of my ass as I wiggled it. With my legs spread, I locked my knees, arched my back, and flipped my long hair back over and stood up. I turned back around and straddled his lap. The only thing separating us was his zipper and my G-string; I could feel his hardness as I began to grind slowly against his girth.
He was huge. “You could hurt a girl like me with that…”
His large palms claimed my hips, halting my movements. “Stop.” His eyes met mine. “I wouldn’t hurt you. I guarantee it.”
His warm hand came up to touch my cheek. “What’s your real name?”
His eyes were dark and intense; his hair was messy, and I could see his strong angular jaw beneath his beard. I couldn’t deny him an answer. “Fiona,” I replied.
His mouth was a straight line. He inhaled deeply. “Fiona. Say it again.”
“Fiona…”
He groaned. “I like it.” He closed his eyes, and his head fell against the velvet couch. His hands kept a firm grip on my hips.
The moment of silence between us felt weird. “Don’t you want me to dance for you?”
“No. Don’t move. Just stay right here. Put your fingers on my temples.” I reached up and placed my fingertips on his temples. “Rub…in circles. Do you like to sing?”
Very odd question for a customer who paid for a private lap dance. “Yes… Well… I can’t sing very well.”
“You don’t have to. Just hum for me.”
I couldn’t think of a song to hum at that moment. He had me frazzled. My pulse raced a bit just from sitting on his lap. He was still hard, and I didn’t doubt it would stay that way. So, I began to hum a tune and continued to rub his temples. “Is this all you want?”
He moaned. “Yes, Fiona. I like the sound of your voice. It calms me.”
I had given private dances to bikers before. Some of them just wanted to have a good time and get a hard-on. Some wanted more than just a dance. And some were dangerous. But they didn’t have to be a biker to be dangerous.
“I like the color of your hair. A long time ago, red hair was a curse…or a gift.” His deep voice rumbled.
“Yes. And it still can be both today.”
He opened his eyes. “Don’t know what it is about you. But I feel grounded when you’re near me.”
It was getting too intense between us then; I was captivated by his voice, and the way he looked at me was like he wanted to see inside me. I climbed off his lap. “I should finish my dance for you. That’s what you’re paying for.”
Gunner came off the couch. He stood so close to me that I had to look up. I smelled whiskey on his breath as he exhaled. “Just wanted to hear your voice and know what you smelled like … this time. Maybe next time you can give me a dance.”
He pulled his wallet out, handing me several twenty-dollar bills. “Put your dress on. I’ll take you back.”
I must have said something wrong. One moment he was calm, then standoffish and cocky the next. I snatched my sheer dress off the couch, pulling it over my head and wiggling it down to cover my ass. “That’s it?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“Then, ask someone else to hum for you next time.”
His hand fisted into my hair, pulling my head back. It hurt but felt good at the same time. “No. Only you, Fiona. Understand?”
I inhaled sharply. “Yes.”
I took the money from him. He grabbed my hand and led me out of the room and back to his table. I stood with him as he threw more bills on his table, grabbed his glass, and finished off the whiskey. “I’ll be back next week.” Then he walked past me, striding out of the Cheetah’s front door.
I liked the sound of her name coming from her own lips. Fiona. The red-haired witch. I watched her on stage for far too long. I wanted to touch her. And now that I had, I was even more captivated. But now I wanted her all to myself. I wanted her to belong to me, And I didn’t want any other man to touch her. The sound of her soft voice humming a non-melodic tune in my
ear, her soft fingertips rubbing circles against my temples stopped the pounding headache, but my hard dick raged on. I wanted to bury myself all the way inside her and claim her as mine.
I stripped and climbed into bed. I gripped my hard dick and began to stroke it. My hands glided from the purple head, down to the base, against my balls. I closed my eyes and remembered how good Fiona smelled. Her long red hair surrounded her pretty face, her nipples the same light shade of pink as her cupid doll lips. Pre cum seeped from the head of my dick and dripped down into my palm. The faster I stroke, the shakier my breathing became. My leg muscles tightened, and my jaw clenched. Her voice. Her soft thighs, hips. I grunted as I exploded, an arch of cum landing on my stomach. My dick jerked and spasmed in my closed grip.
There was a lull in calls for a tow service the next day. Ratchet and I hung out in the main office waiting for those calls.
I was kicked back in a chair, legs up on a desk, my ankles crossed. A balled-up wad of paper struck me in the back of the head. It was Ratchet, of course.
I turned around, witnessing him in mid-throw of another balled-up paper wad. “Earth to Gunner. Wake up, brother. You hungover again?”
“No, man. Didn’t drink as much as I did the other week.”
“You went to see your red-haired siren again?”
“Yeah. And she took me back to the VIP this time around.”
Ratchet threw the paper wad. That one bounced off my forehead. He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “Do tell.”
“She’s even more gorgeous close-up. Sweet voice. She’s got this innocence about her, which is whacked because she is an exotic dancer. But she doesn’t quite fit that mold. That was my impression, anyway.”
“So, do you want to know her better? Or just fuck her?”
I remembered asking Ratchet the exact same question about Sam not too long ago. “Yeah, of course, I wanna fuck her. But she’s not interested. I’m just one of her customers at the club.” And I scared her already.
“That’s why you should take her out of the club.”
“Take her out? Like a date?”
“Sure. Why not? It’s a no brainer…you like her.”
“Don’t think she’s into men like us, brother.”
“Well, you’ll never know unless you shift it in first. And make your move.”
Ratchet didn’t say much, but when he did, it was important to him. Before the Army and my tour in Iraq, I was a young man. I came back a different man. I was still me, but I left some of myself there. What I brought back were jagged, broken pieces of the man I used to be. Fiona probably would’ve liked the young man I was before the war. Not the man I was now.
“So? Was I right? Is he hung like a bull?” Destiny’s eyes were all fiery and wide, waiting for my confirmation.
“Yes. Okay? He’s huge.” A shade of pink flushed my cheeks.
“Geez, Cherri! You’re blushing! You’ve rubbed up on plenty of crotches by now. What’s up with that?”
It was because I was truly turned on by Gunner. My nipples hardened just remembering the feel of his huge hard-on as I ground on his lap. “He calls himself Gunner. But I don’t believe that’s his real name.”
“Of course not. That’s his road name or club name. They’re not outlaw. And that’s a good thing.”
“Outlaw?”
“Yeah. They don’t do any illegal business or activities, like drugs, prostitution, guns—gangster shit, Cherri. The Chaos Kings MC are legit, with families and jobs. They’re a tight-knit group. Very loyal to their own.”
“How do you know so much, Destiny?”
“I’ve been around it for a while, sweetie.”
I appreciated Destiny for her no-filter, straight-at-you attitude. She wasn’t concerned about toning anything down. She gave it to you up-front.
“Going to the VIP. A new client, I think.” I raked fingers through my hair in front of the mirror, straightening out my tight, black dress.
I looked forward to it, so I could focus on something else, anything else other than Gunner. After watching me for months, he finally had me alone. It was like touching a hot flame from a lit candle. He gave off this standoffish vibe. But when I placed my fingers to his temples and hummed as he had asked, he was like a tamed panther. His voice was rough and deep. His size frightened me a bit. Many men didn’t know how to be gentle, even when they weren’t as well-endowed as Gunner. Then it was like the candle blew out. That’s all he wanted from me. No lap dance, or a hand job. Or even a kiss. I wanted him to kiss me. Something I did must have turned him off.
I went into Jay-Jay’s DJ booth. “Who’s the client for the VIP?”
He was just announcing the next dancer, Vixen, to the stage. “Hey, hon. He went ahead in room one.”
Vixen started her routine onstage; the goth and heavy sound of a Marilyn Manson song came through the speakers. I walked down the dark hallway to room one and entered. It was dark with a leopard print wingback chair against the drawn purple curtains. And he was sitting in it. Kyle.
I spun around to pull the doorknob and run, but he was quicker and on me in two seconds, pressing his chest into my back, my chest slamming against the door. His arms came up to cage me in.
“I wanted to surprise you, Fiona. I succeeded,” he hissed into my ear. His breath smelled of liquor.
His chest kept mine pinned against the door. I didn’t move as a flush of anxiety snaked up my neck to my cheeks. All I could do was respond and reassure him. “Yes… You did, Kyle… You’re hurting me.”
He pulled away. “I wouldn’t hurt you! As long as you keep that pretty mouth of yours shut.”
I turned around to face him. He was always dressed in a suit when he came to see me for a private dance. I knew his wife, and I knew that they lived in a gated community. I also knew he worked a high tech, white-collar job. He liked to spend money at the Cheetah and came in and requested me in the VIP every time.
He reached out and latched on to my wrist, pulling me to the cheetah print chair. As he sat, I landed on his lap. He grasped my chin with his finger and thumb and turned me to meet his eyes. “So, who’s the biker?”
I was never really good at shielding my reactions, and Kyle knew it. “I don’t know his name. He just likes to come in to watch us girls dance.”
“He likes to watch you dance. Have you fucked him yet?”
“No! He just likes to watch.”
“Come on now, Fiona. Don’t lie to me.”
I had to keep him calm. “I haven’t, Kyle; I swear.”
“Okay, then.” He suddenly pulled me tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. “You’re such a sweet girl. I don’t blame the guy; you’re intoxicating.”
He released me and made me stand up in front of him. He patted his lap with both hands. “Show me how you danced for him.”
I began to move my hips in a figure eight for him. I rose my arms up above my head and caressed them, bringing them back down to my sides. His eyes moved from my breasts to my belly. They became hooded and full of hunger. In his excitement, he reached for me, pulling me back onto his lap, so I had to straddle him.
“You going to finish what you start this time? Or are you going to do a half-assed job like you did before?” He blamed me for his own incompetence; he couldn’t get an erection.
He squeezed his eyes shut. I hoped it would end soon and he would leave. He growled and pushed me off his lap. I stumbled back but steadied myself.
“Don’t bother. You’re just a tease anyway.” Kyle rose from the chair, tucking his wrinkled white shirt back into the front of his suit pants. He pulled out a wad of rolled bills and tossed several one-hundred-dollar bills at me. They hit my stomach and scattered to the floor.
He walked past me and out the door of the VIP. I knelt down to pick the bills up and folded them nice and neat. I combed a hand through my hair to brush it back and away. Kyle had never physically hurt me. He watched me at the club and even followed me h
ome one night. I seemed to attract men who wanted what they saw of me on the outside, not wanting to know who I was on the inside. But I was okay with that. It was better than to be seen as a reject or disgusting or wicked.
The way that biker, Gunner, looked at me, though—not like a piece of ass, not like some odd freak. All he wanted from me was my voice. He didn’t demand anything else of me as I sat on his lap. There was no way he could have hidden the enormous bulge in his jeans, right there between our bodies. And I told him my real name the moment he asked. That rattled me a bit too. I wasn’t afraid of him. Only the size of him.
Destiny just ended her last dance onstage as I followed her back into the dressing room. The next dancer, Kesha, was up and fluffing her hair and adjusting her bikini in the mirror, preparing to go onstage.
“Where do bikers go, Destiny?”
She was wiping sweat off the back of her neck with a towel. “Go? You mean, where do they hang out?”
“Yes.”
“Well your biker does hang, doesn’t he?” She laughed.
“Destiny. Seriously. Where?”
“Why? You want to stalk him like Kyle does you?”
“No.” I blushed because Destiny could read me all too well. “I just want to know his real name. I know it’s not Gunner.”
“Just so you know, hon, I don’t think any of those Chaos Kings would like it too much if you started following one of them around.”
“I’ll be discreet. Unnoticeable.”
“You? Unnoticeable? Now that’s funny, mon cheri.” Destiny spoke in a sultry French accent.
“Please, Destiny? Where do bikers like him hang out?”
She sighed and looked up at the ceiling before answering. “I know of one biker bar called the CrowBar. In town. There’s a couple of other dive bars that I’ve heard of too.”
Chaos Kings MC Page 24
