Vicious: Steel Jockeys MC

by Claire St. Rose

  The balding man nodded, his eyes on the dancer center stage. “Yep. We’ll take a poll when you’re out there.”

  A poll. Uneasiness snaked through him. This whole night was a giant wild card. Who knew what they’d make them do? “Got it.”

  He turned to Claudia, who sat rigid in her chair, watching the girl on stage with a grimace. He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “We’re next. They’ll decide what we do when we’re up there.”

  Her gaze snagged him, her eyes two glinting gemstones. “And?”

  “And we’ll do the best we can.” He reached out to squeeze her knee.

  She sighed, gaze drifting back to the stage. Worry shone on her face under the gauzy lighting. The girl on the stage strutted around the pole, the low music pulsing around the room, almost dissonant with her demeanor. The bald man beside him hissed and shooed her off the stage. She retreated behind a black curtain.

  “Some of these girls like to provoke me,” the man muttered at his side. “She’ll get what’s coming to her.”

  Boris lifted a brow. “Is this your private club, then?”

  “Sure is.” His smile revealed frighteningly perfect teeth. “The one place on the ship we can do anything we want. The help don’t come around here. Codes don’t apply. Hence the smoking.” He took a drag on his cigarette and flicked ash on the floor, as though to prove his point. “You’re next.”

  Boris straightened, heart hammering behind his ribs. This guy had to be one of the orchestrators of the sex cruise. If he could call the shots in a room like this, maybe he owned the whole damn operation. “What should she do?”

  The man dragged his tongue over his top teeth as he leaned over to look at Claudia. It made Boris want to shudder. Snapping his gaze up to Boris, he said, “I want both of you up there.”

  Boris glanced at the stage, nodding. “Okay. What else?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, like trying to figure out a puzzle. “I want a lap dance. Show me a preview of what you two will do when you get back to your room.”

  An unexpected anger gnawed at him. This guy was a creep—like most of the actual patrons onboard the ship. “Fine.”

  Claudia sat rigidly when he turned toward her. He offered a hand and pulled her to standing, snagging her at the waist. He dragged his lips over her cheek as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “He wants a lap dance. Let’s go.”

  “Easy enough for you,” her voice cracked, but her smile looked strained.

  The music changed to something a bit slower paced, sultrier, as they made their way up to the stage. One guy pocketed a small baggie of white powder as he passed, three distinct lines separated on a golden platter in his lap. Den of iniquity here.

  As he neared the stage, the bald man called out from his seat. “Use the chair off to the side.”

  Boris spotted a simple straight-backed chair near the curtains. He brought it to the center of the stage, set up against the pole and held Claudia’s gaze.

  “Now dance,” the old man cackled from his seat.

  Claudia took a shaky breath and nibbled on her lip, meeting his gaze. She grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. In a low voice, she said, “Here we go.”

  Claudia pushed him hard at his shoulders, making him stumble backward, ass plopping into the chair. He tilted his head back to watch, fascinated despite all the sets of eyes on him. She dragged a hand along the ridge of his shoulders as she strutted around behind him. Then she trailed her fingers up and down his arms, bending to breathe hot into his ear.

  “I hope you like it,” she whispered, then bit his ear lobe. Electricity shivered through him. She sashayed to the front, swinging a leg over top of him, straddling him. She bent and wiggled her ass toward the crowd, then yanked the front of her dress down, exposing overflowing tits in a black lace bra. He sucked in hard, the sweet V of her cleavage only inches away.

  She grabbed his head and rubbed his face against the smooth, warm skin of her breasts. He couldn’t help but inhale—she smelled sweet and fragrant and the warmth of her skin seemed to sear through him.

  She held his gaze as she gyrated her hips above him, lowering but not making contact with his lap. He peered around to watch her sinfully good moves, the mesmerizing dips and curves of her body. What might it be like to take her in his arms in bed that night—to press into her, to feel those dips and curves on top of him?

  In flash she spun off of him, strutting behind him again, dragging her fingertips over the back of his neck. Goosebumps spread through his body. And he was half-hard, dammit. Claudia knew damn well what the hell she was doing.

  Once she’d made a parade circle around him, no doubt appealing to the watchful sets of eyes, she grabbed onto his knees as she twisted from side to side, lowering down between his legs. He couldn’t help but smile—this was too good, even though it was fucked up too—and she pushed his legs wider, holding his gaze with parted lips.

  His heart thrummed in his chest, wondering what it might be like to press his lips against hers and how she might taste. He cleared his throat as she dragged her fingernails up and down the tops of his thighs, making his cock twitch. She dragged her chin over the top of his slacks, from knee up over the tops of his thighs, coming dangerously close to his cock.

  He jerked as her mouth grazed the crotch of his pants, her hands smoothing back over his thighs and down to his knees. His breath escaped in heavy puffs, unable to rip his eyes off her.

  She stood, spinning to face the crowd, and pushed the dress down over her hips in time to the music, making exaggerated motions as her dress pooled on the floor. A black lace thong bit into the apple roundness of her ass cheeks. He cleared his throat again, rubbing at the back of his neck. Jesus, the thing he’d do to this girl. If only they were anywhere other than here.

  She toed the dress off the side of the stage, spinning to face him, clad only in spiky black heels. Her eyes swirled with mischief, and something else. You’re enjoying this a little. And the truth was, he was too. She strutted back toward him, a sexy grin crossing her face as she straddled him, plopping down onto his lap.

  Arms around his neck, she leaned in close. “Enjoying this?”

  He hefted with a laugh, painfully aware of her breasts smashed against his chest. “As much as you are.”

  She pulled back and leveled him with a smoking hot look, and then gyrated on top of him, reaching up with one hand to loosen her hair from its updo. It cascaded over her shoulders in golden waves. He sucked in his breath. The heat of her, her scent, the pressure of her sweet ass on top of him. It took extra focus to keep his cool. To remind himself there were spectators.

  Because all he wanted to do was grab her at the waist and make sure she never got off him.

  Claudia tilted her head, making a display of dragging her tongue over his jawline. He flexed his jaw, fighting a grin. Then she popped up, rubbing his face in her breasts again. Her scent consumed him; made him mindless with desire.

  He reached for her hips but stilled his hands halfway. No touching during the lap dance. No touching in here at all. This wasn’t the right place, or the right way.

  Claudia leaned back, dipping far enough to see back at the audience, then hooked her legs over his shoulders, letting her head fall down toward the ground between his legs. His breath caught in his throat—this view wasn’t fair. It was barely legal. The tiny scrap of her thong bit into the folds of her pussy, showcasing the brunt of her femininity. She was pure curves and dips as she arced backward.

  “Take off your bra,” the bald man demanded from the back of the room.

  Boris swallowed, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as he waited. Claudia unhooked it from where she was, and the lace fell away. Two perfect, round breasts spilled out and her tawny nipples stood at attention in the dim light.

  Jesus. He cleared his throat again, rubbing his jaw against the smoothness of her leg. Stop it. He let his lips drag against her calf for just a moment before he ripped himself away, steeling himself agai
nst the feel of her. Ignoring the way his body begged to bring her nearer, to get her in his arms where she couldn’t get away.

  Claudia propped herself up on the floor with her hands and then spiraled her legs away from him, some sort of graceful half-cartwheel that made him wonder exactly what sort of dance background she had. Maybe lap dances were something of her specialty. Maybe she’d just been acting like she wasn’t into weird shit like this.

  When the stood and came near him again, her eyes glimmered jade and mischievous. He drew a shaky breath, eyes on her perfect breasts, desperate to grab a handful. He stilled his hand mid-way in the air—stop it, no touching, she’s not yours to touch, she’s an innocent here—but couldn’t silence the groan that escaped him when she mounted him again, her golden strands tickling the side of his face.

  “You do like this,” she murmured into his ear, gyrating slowly on top of him. “They might think that this is just for us.”

  “That’s what they should think,” he said, voice strained.

  She pulled back, gaze scorching over him, and then leaned closer, mouth parted. She stopped when their lips were just centimeters apart. Her breath came out in sharp spurts against his lips and his heart beat wildly against his ribs. Every cell of his being wanted the kiss, wanted to put his hands over her and claim her.

  “That’s all.” The voice broke through the reverie and his eyes popped open. The bald man had spoken. Claudia turned to look at the far edge of the room; the absence of her body pressed to his felt like a cold draft, an unwelcome change. He shook his head, like maybe it would lift the fog. The Claudia fog. The bald man was shooing them off the stage from his chair. Three lithe brunettes stood around him, dripping with jewels and sequin. Must be the next act.

  Claudia dismounted and grabbed for her clothes, rehooking her bra with surprising quickness. He took a restorative breath, struggling to calm his racing heart, willing his swollen cock to recede even just a fraction. When he finally could stand, he pushed the chair back off to the side of the stage, following Claudia toward a dark corner.

  He looked around the room while she stepped into her dress, partially hidden behind him. Like modesty was needed anymore, after that lap dance to end all lap dances.

  “You good?” She looked up at him a grin on her face.

  Her narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. I’m great.”

  “You should be, after that treatment.” She laughed a little, sliding the dress of her strap into place. “How’d I do?”

  He sighed, studying the far wall, not knowing where to begin. “Let’s just say you fooled us all.”

  Chapter Seven

  Claudia hummed as she folded up her clothes. Back in her room, after a hot shower and plenty of scrubbing, she felt hopeful. Happy, even.

  Something about the lewd display in the basement of the ship had set her motor running. The way Boris had watched her—captivated, like a slave to her movements—confirmed something deep inside. She wanted him, for more reasons than she could understand. Beyond all the confusing unknowns of this crazy situation, onboard this crazy ship.

  She’d never been able to dance like that for any of her past boyfriends. Hell no. There was something about the way he watched her that pushed her to the limit. His gaze was molten, prodding her to wow him, to make him want her.

  The shower water was a low hum in the background as Boris finished up in there. They’d returned to her room without much conversation—clearly the dance weighed heavily on him—and she’d opted for the rinse-off almost immediately.

  Like it might clear her head. Make her stop wondering what it might feel like to have his hands scorch their way over her body. To push his lips against hers, or even push his fingers inside her pussy and make him feel how wet he’d made her during that dance. The way she’d be able to take all of him inside her.

  She sighed. Cool it, Claudia. Those thoughts helped no one. Especially when they were less than a day away from getting to dry land and resuming life as normal. A normal that didn’t include hunky, cut rescuers with perfectly cropped hair and thick hands that could make her weep from desire.

  Boris coughed from inside the bathroom. The back of her neck prickled—would it be so wrong just to fuck him once and see what it’s like?—and she stuffed the last of her folded clothes inside her backpack. Tomorrow, they’d be back in Croatia. She’d be free. He’d be gone. Or something. Life as normal continues.

  The doorknob jiggled and she bit back a grin, eager to see him in just a towel. Maybe he’d let it slip off.

  Quiet steps in the room. A hand on her shoulder. She froze; something wasn’t right. The water was still running.

  The hand spun her around hard and the leer of a strange man waited for her, his tongue poking out between dry lips.

  “There you are,” he hissed, pushing her against the edge of the bed. It was the man from the basement—grotesque and strange from so close, his eyes reflecting dark depravity. He pinned her to the bed and panic filled her, made her rigid and mute.

  “I couldn’t believe the way you moved down there.” He ground his groin against her, between her legs, his breath like sulfur. “You move too good, baby. I know you want me. So I came to give it to you.”

  She found her voice and yelped, but he clamped a sweaty hand over her mouth. She screamed into his palm, almost no sound escaping. Boris! Boris! BORIS! He had to hear this—hear something—and come out. Her mind raced so fast she couldn’t see past this man, couldn’t hear past him either. Couldn’t tell if the water ran or not. Couldn’t tell if seconds had passed or maybe hours.

  Boris help come save me come save me.

  The man held her mouth shut while he reached down with his other hand to unbuckle his belt. His eyes were beady and crazed as he jangled his belt open. Zzzzip. The noise grated on her and she fought against him, kicking, the real possibility of this heinous act pushing her to flail.

  He leaned against her, pinning her leg beneath him, swearing as he freed his dick from his pants. She screamed harder against his palm and thrashed as hard as she could, until her vision went spotty. The heat of his hand was acrid, tangy. The most disgusting stench she’d ever smelled. Tears dribbled down the sides of her face. Boris Boris Boris Boris Boris please.

  The man laughed low and looked down between them. She kicked and thrashed more, but he shushed her, as though soothing her.

  “This is what you wanted,” he murmured, yanking her pajama bottoms down. She screamed harder into his hand, until her throat burned. “This is what you were asking for when you danced like that.”

  The door to the bathroom flung open; there was a gruff shout, and then a second later the man lifted off of her. She gasped for air, fresh and nourishing, the most relieving source of joy she’d ever experienced. A half-naked Boris threw the man onto the floor, pinning him there with his knees.

  The bald man could only gasp before Boris let loose a storm of punches; Claudia recoiled to the far side of the bed, knees to her chest, struggling to calm the adrenaline streaking through her. Panic flowed freely alongside relief; he almost raped you; Boris saved you. It ran like a marquee through her mind as she struggled to ground herself, to calm even slightly.

  Punches echoed through the room and she couldn’t bear to look. Boris grunted as he pummeled the intruder; after a few moments, there was a break, Boris heaving from the exertion.

  Claudia peered over the edge of the bed. The bald man was a bloody, indecipherable mess. His face was entirely bust open. Boris stared down at him, his fists mangled and bloody.

  “Boris,” she said.

  He twisted to look at her, his face raw and strange in the aftermath. His chest heaved as he drew quick breaths.

  “He almost hurt you.” His voice came out small.

  “I know.” She scrambled to the edge of the bed, reaching for him. The man didn’t move beneath him; not even a peep or a groan. Her gut twisted. This is bad. This is really bad. “You saved me.”

  Boris swallowed and
brought the heel of his palm to his forehead. “He’s dead.” He came to his feet and then shifted onto the edge of the bed. Claudia’s gaze drifted to her attacker; a small part of her was deeply satisfied. Another was horrified that something like this could have unfolded onboard the ship. This was shit that happened in the movies. Not in her life.

  “You saved me,” she repeated, curling up next to him. He pulled her into his arms, the scent of soap mingling with the sweat of his exertion. Her mind spun. Nothing made sense.

  “That’s why I wanted to stay here tonight,” Boris said, his voice distant. “To protect you. And he almost hurt you.”

  “But he didn’t—”

  “But it was on my watch.” His grip tightened around her and then suddenly she was in his lap. He squeezed his arms around her, his chest rising and falling as he calmed his breaths. “I’m sorry.”