The Biker’s Stripper

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

My hands were still shaking when I parked my car outside the address Rector had texted me.

The Skull MC clubhouse sat at the end of a long, dark dirt road outside the city. It was an old warehouse surrounded by heavy metal gates and bright outdoor lights. Two club members stood at the entrance. They checked my name on a list and waved me through without saying a single word.

As I walked inside, the big main room smelled heavily of leather, cigarette smoke, and motor oil. A few rough-looking bikers sat at tables, watching me walk past. Nobody spoke. Their cold stares made my chest tighten, but I knew the truth: tonight, I belonged entirely to their president.

Rector’s private room was all the way at the back. Before I could even raise my hand to knock, the heavy wooden door swung open.

He was still fully dressed in his black jeans, leather cut, and boots. He leaned casually against the doorframe, looking like a man who owned all the time in the world. The nasty scar cutting through his eyebrow looked sharper under the dim indoor lights. He didn't smile at me.

"Inside," he said.

I stepped across the threshold, and the door slammed shut behind me with a loud, heavy click.

The room was simple and bare. There was a large king-sized bed covered in black sheets, a heavy wooden chair, a tall standing mirror, and a shiny metal dancing pole fixed right into the floorboards. On the dresser sat a thick envelope stuffed with cash, right next to a folded hospital paper that had a red stamp across it: Paid in Full – First Installment.

Rector's dark eyes slowly dragged down my body. I had worn a thin black dress with nothing underneath, just like he had told me to over the phone.

"The music's ready," he said, nodding toward a small speaker sitting in the corner. "Dance."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and walked over to the pole. The first song started—a slow, heavy beat with a deep bass line. I started dancing the way I always did back at the club, rolling my hips, sliding my hands up the cold metal, and moving under the single overhead light. But this was completely different. There was no noisy crowd throwing dollar bills. There was only him.

At first, Rector stayed against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest, watching every single movement in total silence. Then, slowly, he pushed off the wall and started walking closer. He began to walk in a slow circle around me.

I could feel the intense heat of his body right behind me before I even heard his voice.

"Slower," he murmured.

I forced myself to slow down, dragging out every movement to match the heavy rhythm. His heavy boots stopped right behind my heels. One large, warm hand settled gently on my bare waist—not pushing or forcing me, just resting there as I kept moving. The heat of his palm burned straight through the thin fabric of my dress.

He let me dance like that for a few more beats. Then, his other hand came up.

His long fingers traced the side of my ribcage, moving higher until they brushed the underside of my breast right through the dress. My breath caught in my throat. I tried to keep my feet moving, but my rhythm instantly stumbled.

Rector's mouth was right next to my ear now, his breath hot against my skin.

"Keep going," he ordered softly.

His thumb found my n****e, already hard and tight against the thin material, and stroked it once. Then again. He traced slow circles before giving it a light, firm pinch. A soft, surprised gasp slipped past my lips before I could stop it.

He did the exact same thing to the other side, slow and deliberate, watching how my body reacted even as I tried to pretend I didn't care. Suddenly, a strange, heavy heat flooded low in my stomach. It was unwanted, completely confusing, and felt ten times stronger than anything the club customers had ever pulled out of me. I had danced for dozens of strange men, but none of them had ever touched me like this. None of them had ever made me secretly want more.

Rector's hand slid slowly down my stomach, stopping just above the top of my thighs. He pressed his palm there firmly enough that I felt the absolute claim in it. He didn't push any further. He just held me pressed against his hand while my hips swayed to his touch, my breathing ragged and my skin flushed red.

Then, just as quickly as he had touched me, he stepped backward.

I almost tripped over my own feet from the sudden loss of contact.

Rector's voice was completely calm and controlled, without a trace of heavy breathing. "That’s enough. I paid for a private dance. Nothing more. Not tonight."

He nodded his head toward a small closed door on the other side of the room.

"Go freshen up. Fix your hair. Put your dress back on properly. I’m taking you home."

I stood there frozen for a second, my chest rising and falling way too fast. I could still feel the phantom ghost of his hands on my skin and that low, traitorous ache burning between my legs. I honestly expected him to push things further. A terrified part of me had been bracing for it the whole time. The fact that he just stopped and walked away left me feeling far more confused and off-balance than if he had kept going.

I gave a small, quiet nod and hurried into the little bathroom.

When I came out a few minutes later—my dress smoothed down, my face washed, and my heart still pounding too loudly in my ears—Rector was already waiting by the front door with his keys in his hand.

"Outside," he said.

I followed him silently through the dark clubhouse. A few bikers looked up from their drinks as we passed, but nobody said a word. The cool night air felt amazing against my hot, burning skin as we stepped out into the gravel parking lot.

Rector walked over to his massive black Harley—the exact same bike I had crashed into a couple of nights ago, now fully repaired and shining brightly under the white floodlights. He swung a long leg over the seat, started the engine with a deep, loud roar that rattled my bones, and looked back at me over his shoulder.

I stood a few feet away, my arms loosely crossed over my chest, waiting.

He didn't have to say a single word.

I walked over, lifted my legs to slide onto the seat right behind him, and wrapped my arms tightly around his hard waist as the powerful bike rumbled beneath us.

Rector pulled out of the parking lot and onto the dark road, heading toward my apartment.

My mother's debt was finally being paid off.

And looking at the broad back of the man driving me home, I knew deep down that tonight had only been the very beginning.