The Biker’s Stripper

Chapter Three

Chapter Three : The Ride Back Home

I kept my arms locked tight around Rector’s waist the entire ride back into the city.

The heavy motorcycle shook and vibrated beneath me, loud and raw, while the cold night air whipped my hair across my face. I could smell the strong scent of leather, cigarette smoke, and something darker coming from his vest. Every single time he shifted gears, my body was pushed forward, pressing harder against his broad back. I hated how aware I was of it—of him. I hated how I kept remembering the exact places his hands had touched me less than an hour ago.

He didn't speak a single word the whole way. He didn't even look back. He just drove through the dark streets like the whole road belonged to him.

When the bike finally slowed down, I recognized my street. It was a rundown neighborhood with a cheap apartment building, flickering outdoor lights, and a front gate that had been broken and open for months. Rector pulled the heavy bike right up to the front entrance of my building and killed the engine. The sudden quiet felt heavier and louder than the roaring motor had.

I carefully climbed off the bike, my legs still feeling a little shaky and weak. Rector stayed seated, keeping one heavy boot planted firmly on the ground while he watched me with that same blank, hard look he had worn in the private room.

"Keys," he demanded.

I dug through the tiny bag I brought with me, found my key ring, and handed them right over without thinking. He took them from my hand, swung his leg over the bike, and walked beside me all the way to my apartment door on the second floor.

He didn't wait for me to open it. He took the keys, unlocked the heavy wooden door himself, and pushed it open. Instead of stepping aside, he walked inside first. His sharp eyes scanned my small living room and the short hallway, checking every corner like he expected trouble to be waiting for us. Only after he was sure the place was empty did he hand the keys back to me.

"Lock it behind me," he said.

That was it. No polite goodnight. No friendly reminder about the debt hanging over my head. Just those four short words and the heavy sound of his boots marching back down the metal stairs.

I closed the door and locked it. Twice. Then I stood there alone in the dark hallway for a long minute, just listening to my own breathing, before I finally reached out and turned on the small lamp.

My little apartment looked even smaller and sadder than usual. There was the old couch with the sagging cushions in the middle, the tiny kitchen area with dirty dishes in the sink, and the closed door to my mother's bedroom. I dropped my small bag on the counter and sat down hard on the couch, still wearing the thin black dress.

The second I stopped moving, everything rushed back into my head.

I could see the way he had circled around me while I danced. I could feel the intense heat of his chest pressing against my back. His hand on my waist felt so steady, so full of ownership. And then higher—his long fingers brushing the underside of my breast, finding my n****e right through the thin fabric, stroking it, pinching it just enough to make my breath hitch in my throat. I remembered the soft, surprised sound I had made. I remembered how my body reacted before my mind could even try to stop it.

A hot wave of heat had pooled low in my stomach. It was a confusing, shameful want that had nothing to do with hospital bills, doctor fees, or my mother's surgery.

He had felt it. I knew he had. He wasn't stupid. And then, just like that, he had stepped away from me like it cost him nothing at all.

I paid for a private dance. Nothing more. Not tonight.

His cold words echoed in my mind. I pressed my thighs tightly together and stared blankly at the empty wall across from me. My skin still felt too warm and sensitive in the exact spots where his hands had been. I could still hear the rough, gravelly edge in his voice when he commanded me to keep dancing.

I had danced for strange men at the club for months, and I had never felt anything except total numbness and the heavy dread of the next bill that needed paying. But spending one single night with Rector had changed everything. My own body had betrayed me so easily, and it honestly scared me.

I dragged both of my hands down my face and let out a long, shaky breath.

Tomorrow. I needed to focus on tomorrow.

I made a mental note in my head, trying to make it clear and firm: first thing in the morning, I would get dressed and go straight to the hospital. I would sit with Mom. I would tell her the next expensive procedure was fully covered. I would watch the heavy worry finally ease from her tired face for once in her life. That was the only reason I was doing any of this. That was the only reason I had agreed to sell my nights to a dangerous man like Rector.

I leaned my tired head back against the cushion of the couch and closed my eyes.

Even with my eyes shut tight, the memory of his heavy hands didn't fade away.

And somewhere deep inside the quiet shadows of my lonely apartment, I already knew the truth without anyone telling me. He would call again very soon.

The debt was nowhere near paid, and I was already in too deep to turn back.