The Biker’s Stripper

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

I woke up early the next morning. My body still felt strange and restless from the night before, and the ghost of Rector’s hands still seemed to linger against my skin every time I closed my eyes.

I pushed the thoughts away, forced myself out of bed, and got ready to see my mother. I took a quick shower and threw on simple, everyday clothes—faded jeans, a soft cotton shirt, and my old sneakers. No tight black dress. No heavy makeup. Just me.

I tried to drink a cup of coffee, but I could only manage half before my tight stomach told me to stop. I left the apartment and caught the early morning bus to the hospital.

The hospital was busy and noisy, just like always. Nurses hurried down the halls pushing medication carts, and visitors walked fast with worried expressions. I knew the way to my mother’s room by heart now. Room 314.

I knocked softly on the wood before turning the handle and stepping inside.

Mom was awake. She looked small and frail propped up against the white pillows. Her face was pale, but her eyes instantly lit up with relief when she saw me walk through the door.

"Ashley," she said, managing a weak smile. "You’re here early today."

I walked over, leaned down, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I wanted to make sure I saw you."

I pulled the plastic chair right up beside the bed and took her thin, cold hand in mine. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better than yesterday," she answered softly. "The pain is fading a little bit. The doctor came by and said the next treatment is officially scheduled. But... the cost..."

She frowned, the familiar look of deep worry washing over her tired face. I hated seeing that look more than anything else in the world.

I squeezed her hand a little tighter. "Don't worry about the money, Mom. It’s completely taken care of."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I found a way," I said, keeping my voice as steady and simple as possible. "The next bills are already paid for. You just need to focus on resting and getting strong."

Tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to push herself up a little higher on the bed. "Ashley... what did you do? Please tell me you didn't borrow money from bad people."

I forced a small, reassuring smile to my face. "It’s okay. Really. Someone is helping out. It’s not a loan I can't handle. Just focus on resting."

She stared hard at my face for a long moment, studying me the way only a mother could. I kept my expression calm, hiding the storm inside. I didn't dare tell her about the strip club. I didn't tell her about Rector, the Skull MC, or the private dances. And I certainly didn't tell her about the way my own body had betrayed me under his touch.

She finally nodded, still looking worried and unconvinced, but she let it drop for now.

We spent the next hour talking about small, ordinary things. We talked about the morning weather, a funny show she had watched on the small hospital TV, and how kind one of the new nurses had been. I stayed for almost two hours before the medical staff came in to check her vitals.

When a nurse walked in with a chart, I stood up from my chair. "I have to go, Mom. But I'll be back tomorrow."

She held onto my hand for an extra second, her grip surprisingly strong. "Be careful, baby. Please."

"I will," I promised.

I left her room with a heavy, aching heart. Knowing she was safe and cared for for another day made everything worth it—even the strange, burning heat I still felt deep inside when I thought about the night before.

Outside the hospital entrance, I sat down on a concrete bench for a few minutes to catch my breath. The afternoon sun felt warm on my face. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the screen.

One new message. From an unknown number.

Tonight. Same place. 8. Wear the black dress again.

I already knew who it was before I even read the words. Rector.

My pulse jumped, hammering wildly against my ribs. I stared at the short message for a long time. Part of me desperately wanted to throw my phone away and ignore it completely. But another part of me—a darker, more honest part—already felt that familiar, low pull twisting in my stomach.

I slowly typed back a single-word reply.

Okay.

That was all. I put the phone away, stood up, and took the bus back to my quiet apartment.

Inside, I tried to keep myself busy to block out the hours. I cleaned the small kitchen counters, washed the few dirty dishes sitting in the sink, and folded a pile of laundry that had been sitting on a chair for days. But no matter what I did, my mind kept drifting right back to the previous night.

I remembered the way Rector had stood behind me while I danced. I remembered the heavy, warm feel of his hands on my waist. I remembered how they moved higher, his fingers brushing against my breast through the thin fabric of my dress. I remembered the slow, deliberate circle of his thumb over my sensitive n****e, and the soft, helpless sound that had slipped past my lips. I remembered how my body had answered him instantly, before my brain could even try to stop it.

And I remembered his voice, calm and cold: I paid for a private dance. Nothing more. Not tonight.

He had total control. Complete and utter control over the situation, and over me. And somehow, crazily, that only made the wanting worse.

I sat down on the sagging couch and looked up at the wall clock. There were still hours left until eight o'clock. I made a simple sandwich for dinner, but I only managed to eat half of it because my stomach was too twisted up with nerves.

Around six o'clock, I took another long shower. I stood under the hot water for ages, trying to wash away the nervous energy, but it didn't work. When I stepped out, I dried my hair, pulled on the same thin black dress from the night before, and left nothing underneath, exactly as he liked.

I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My cheeks were already flushed pink. I felt completely exposed and vulnerable, even before stepping foot outside my front door.

At 7:30, I locked my apartment behind me and walked down to the street. I didn't take the bus this time. I just stood near the curb and waited.

A few minutes later, I heard the familiar, deep roar of a motorcycle engine echoing down the quiet street. Rector’s massive black Harley rolled up to the curb and stopped right in front of me. He sat astride the bike, wearing his leather cut and dark jeans. No helmet. His dark eyes moved slowly up and down my body, thorough and intense.

He didn't smile. He just gave a sharp jerk of his head toward the back seat.

I stepped forward and climbed on behind him. My arms automatically wrapped around his waist. The heavy engine roared to life, and we pulled away from the curb.

The night air was much cooler now, and without meaning to, I pressed my chest closer against his broad back. I could feel the hard muscles moving beneath his shirt, and I breathed in the strong scent of leather and smoke that always seemed to follow him.

We didn't speak a single word during the entire ride. There was nothing left to say.

When we reached the clubhouse, the same two club members waved us through the heavy gate. Rector parked near the back in the shadows and cut the engine. I climbed off the bike carefully, my legs feeling a little weak.

He looked at me in the dim glow of the outdoor floodlights. "You went to the hospital today."

It wasn't a question.

I gave a small nod. "Yes. My mother is stable. The next treatment is paid for."

"Good," his voice was low, gravelly, and absolute. "You did what you needed to do. Now you do what I need."

He turned on his heel and walked toward the back entrance. I followed right behind him.

Inside, the clubhouse was quieter than it had been the night before. A few men sat at the far end of the bar, but they only glanced at us briefly before looking away. Rector led me straight down the familiar hallway to his private room, locking the heavy door securely behind us.

The room looked exactly the same. The metal dancing pole stood in the corner. The heavy wooden chair sat by the wall. The bed was draped in dark sheets. And on the dresser sat another thick envelope of cash, looking even bulkier than the last one.

Rector leaned his back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dance."

I walked over to the pole. My heart was beating a hundred miles an hour. I started moving the way I had before—slow, deliberate rolls of my hips, my hands sliding up the cool metal under the single light.

He watched in total silence for a long time. Then, pushing off the wall, he stalked closer.

I felt the intense heat of his body right behind me before I even heard him move. His heavy hands settled onto my waist. Warm. Heavy. Claiming.

"Slower," he murmured near my ear.

I slowed my movements to match his command. His hands slid higher over my ribs until his thumbs brushed the undersides of my breasts through the thin fabric. I kept dancing, but my breath hitched sharply in my throat.

He didn't rush. He traced the shape of my body with slow, deliberate fingers. When his thumbs found my n*****s, already hard and aching, he stroked them in small, torturous circles.

A soft, broken sound escaped my lips before I could stop it. My body leaned backward into him entirely on its own, seeking more friction, more heat. A wave of liquid heat spread low through my stomach, feeling ten times stronger than it had last night. I hated how much I wanted him to keep going, and I hated how my hips swayed against his palm without my permission.

Rector's voice dropped to a low, rough growl near my ear. "You feel it again."

It wasn't a question. I didn't answer him. I couldn't form the words.

His hands stayed on me for a few more endless seconds, teasing, pressing, and making the sweet ache worse. Then, just like before, he abruptly stepped away.

I almost swayed and lost my balance from the sudden loss of his touch.

He walked over to the dresser, picked up the thick envelope of cash, and held it out toward me. "Another payment. Your mother's care for next week is covered."

I took the heavy envelope from his hand with shaking fingers.

Rector held my gaze for a long, heavy moment. "Freshen up. Then I'm taking you home."

I nodded mutely and hurried into the small bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed bright red, and my eyes looked dark and wrecked. I looked completely different. I felt completely different.

When I came out, he was already waiting by the door.

We walked back through the quiet clubhouse in silence. Outside, the Harley waited under the bright floodlights. I climbed on behind him once more, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist as the engine rumbled to life.

As we rode out into the dark, empty city streets, I gently pressed my forehead against his back.

The heavy debt was still there. The confusing, dangerous wanting was still there. And deep down, I already knew that he would call me again, and I would answer every single time.