Page 9 of Mile High With the Bikers (Screaming Eagles MC #10)
But it’s not all men. There are women too, sitting in their laps, or leaning at their sides with arms around their waists as the men talk.
They remind me of groupies at a rock show.
And they're all dressed for attention. Miniskirts and crop-tops are everywhere, along with tube tops and booty shorts. One girl is wearing a long T-shirt that I'm not convinced has anything under, and not to be outdone, she’s with a friend who has her breasts out, laughing as she swings her shirt over her head. One of the guys they’re with cups her breasts in his big hands and nobody seems at all bothered by it.
Especially not the girl in the oversized shirt who leans in to kiss her.
My face warms, but I can't look away. I think I see why Shrapnel said what we did wasn’t exactly an orgy.
“Giving you ideas?” Diesel whispers right into my ear as he puts his hands on my hips and leans in close.
It feels a little kinky that we’re standing here watching together. I don’t know if I like it, but I don’t hate it. “Just surprised, is all.” I glance back at him, realizing it's just us two. “Where are Bull and Shrapnel?”
He laughs, sliding his rough fingers underneath the hem of my shirt so he can caress my side, skin on skin. “They spotted Viking and Ripper and went to report in. You're stuck with me for now. Want something to drink, or just go upstairs? You can crash at my place.”
His touch is distracting. For a moment my brain plays with the idea of doing more than just crashing, but no.
I feel like a dishtowel, wrung out and hung to dry.
The only reason I’m not having a complete breakdown is because I’m too overwhelmed to process everything that’s happened today. “Can I take a rain check?”
“Yeah, of course.”
I lean into him, my eyelids drooping. “Drink later. Crash now.”
“Alright, sleepyhead. Come on. Let’s get you tucked in.” He takes my hand and pulls me along, plowing through the dense crowd so that all I have to do is keep up.
In the back, the space opens up to reveal a lowered seating area around a stage.
A gorgeous woman in booty shorts cut so high they're venturing into bikini territory twirls around a pole. Her tight mesh top does little to hide a pair of breasts that has the attention of every man in the audience below. And honestly, most of the women, too. She struts around the pole with a seductive swivel of her hips, then grabs it with both hands and with the kind of athleticism that I could only ever dream of, swings her legs up until she’s hanging upside down.
The muscles flex in her supple thighs as she peels her top off and tosses it into the audience.
“Sure you don't wanna stay for the show? You seem to like it.”
It's tempting. The way she moves is hypnotizing. I’m far too straight to be her target audience, but it’s still beautiful and impressive in its own way. “No. Maybe another night.”
He grins. “I think I’m going to like cashing in this rain check. Come on, let's get you in bed.”
We go deeper into the bar, but along the outside edge instead of down into the booths around the stage.
There's a door with a security pad. Diesel pulls out a little plastic fob that he waves close to the panel, then punches in a quick code.
A little light turns green and he pushes the door open, holding it for me.
“Fancy for a biker strip club.”
“We take security pretty seriously around here. Believe it or not, we aren’t exactly universally loved.”
I smile, keeping it to myself that while I’m definitely not the most dangerous person here, I might be the biggest security risk.
“We own the whole building and rebuilt it a while ago, after… well, after one of the reasons we need security. Gives us some room outside the clubhouse.” The door clicks shut behind us and I hear the lock kick in with a mechanical whir.
“No elevator, unfortunately. Old building, and it wasn't practical to try to install one in the middle of it. Third floor.”
He opens the door to his apartment the same way as downstairs, and shows me into a small apartment.
I was expecting the worst, but it’s actually pretty cozy.
Very much still a guy’s space, though. Leather couch and a huge TV dominate the living area, with several game systems and controllers underneath.
Motorcycle pictures and artsy nudes on one wall, and a frame with a picture of a pretty woman and a redheaded boy on the TV table.
His mother, maybe? Pretty sure that might be him as a boy, maybe ten or twelve.
The kitchen area is tiny but clean aside from a couple of empty beer bottles pushed together at one end of the counter.
“Bathroom’s over there, and the bedrooms through the other door,” he explains, gesturing. “That’s the grand tour. Nothing fancy, but the water pressure’s good and the sheets are clean. Take a shower if you want, and I'll find you a spare towel.”
I put my backpack down on the floor. “That sounds amazing.”
And it is. The shower feels like heaven.
The water's hot and comes down in powerful streams that purge the grime and ash from my body. My little bag of carry-on toiletries isn’t great, but it’s enough to get my teeth clean and my face washed.
I get a tired wolf whistle from the couch when I walk out with just the towel wrapped around me, but he seems mostly interested in getting himself clean, too.
Not wanting to just take his bedroom without at least talking about it first, I sit on his couch and pull my legs up.
My intention is to wait for him to finish, but as soon as I rest my head on my arm, I’m out like a light.