Will they expect more from me, like my regular customers would if they saw me and Powerhouse having sex? Will they be like all the others, salivating to witness me lose my clothes for a few bucks?
“They’ve seen me dance,” I quietly respond, leaving my apprehension on the table so he knows firsthand I’m not entirely sure how I feel about being in his space.
He gets my attention with his hand, then signs without speaking this time. He’s growing more comfortable, I suspect.
“You dance like a dream. Makes my heart beat faster. They would be stupid not to notice you, too. I will poke their eyes out.”
The first part melts me into a gooey mess for him, but the last part has me barking out a surprised laugh. He’s possessive with me, but in a cute, Golden Retriever kind of way, not a psycho, jealous-ex way.
I like it.
He continues,“I love your laugh. Your smile. You are breathtaking.”
I flash him a tender look, my heart pitter-pattering with his last confession. The fact he didn’t say it out loud but kept the words for only him and me makes them all the more meaningful. He’s nothing like I expected him to be. I can’t help but fall a little more into him emotionally. I like him, probably too much. I know the responsible thing to do would be to guard my heart, take my time, but he somehow knocks down any apprehension I may come across.
When the other dancers first told me Powerhouse was interested in me, I thought it was ridiculous, but then I noticed him always watching me. I tried to stop looking at him in return because he’s beautiful in a larger-than-life, alpha male type of way… but also in a dangerous, walking-red-flag-outlaw sense as well. His motorcycle club and the other guys he rides with are all a part of a one-percenter club. I had no idea what it meant, but with a little research, I’ve quickly learned just how dangerous they all are, so of course, I formed a preconceived notion in my head before I ever said one word to him.
I should’ve known not to judge someone at first glance, but even I’m guilty of being human.
I thought he’d be mean. Nasty toward women weaker than him. And demanding. I was scared he’d hurt me just by me being in the same vicinity as him. I was an idiot, and soon after, everyone started talking about him more and more, it seemed to the point he was all I thought about. Someone was always mentioning a kind deed he was doing for them, how he’d helped them another time, or that they thought he was the best catch in the place.
A real man.
One they all want to fuck and tie down if given the chance. Hearing all of their comments only made me want to stay away more because the last thing I need is people to hate me for taking a man they want off the market for themselves. He wasn’t my opportunity; he’d be my downfall in every sense of my life if I allowed him to.
It was a huge shock for me a few weeks ago when the other strippers came as a group, pleading their case. Surprising me by telling me how amazing Powerhouse is and how they all love me. They wanted me to give him a chance because I’m the only one in the group he’d go for, the only one he could ever truly fall in love with. I tried to argue, claiming we’re too different, but theywere persistent enough to get me to cave. Saying they don’t want to see a good man like him end up with the wrong woman.
Eventually, I agreed to dance. One birthday dance, as a favor to them. And I ended up lost, consumed by the thoughtful biker’s attentions. It was all encompassing, and soon after, I was caught up so thoroughly, he’s the only thing that’s been on my mind since.
The last time I danced for him, I was borderline obsessed. I needed to feel his touch like I needed air to breathe. When his large, calloused palms rubbed over me, I knew it wouldn’t be enough, and the moment I was able to, I was happily taking his ten- or twelve-inch dick. The entire time we were touching and grinding in the club where anyone could watch, I was thinking I couldn’t go another minute without feeling him inside me, so I sank down and took all of him.
I swear I lost my mind, and here I am once more, ready to lose it all over again for the man in question.
Chapter Ten
Powerhouse
Am I peacocking right now? G-damn right I am, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop it. My chest is puffed out as I stride with Raven at my side, feeling like eleventy-hundred-million bucks. She’s more than anything I ever imagined having on my arm, and I’m not taking a moment of it for granted.
I’m not sure if she’s fully forgiven me for acting like an ass back at the strip club, but she doesn’t seem angry anymore. It’s almost as if the ride smoothed things over somehow. I don’t know if it’s actually what happened, but I’m not about to rock the boat when I have Raven exactly where I want her.
I nod to Prez in greeting, but all he does is smirk in return. He’s got his woman with him, so he’s preoccupied with her, no doubt. This is a big deal, us patching over, so the ol’ ladies will be included in the celebration. It’s a change for them too; theirproperty patches will remain the same, but their rockers will forever be changed.
I can’t stop myself from leaning over and pressing a kiss to the top of Raven’s head. She’s so short compared to me, it’s almost comical, but it’s one thing I like about her. With her here, in my space, a sense of ease like none before settles over me, and I’m confident I’m making the right decision tonight. All my brothers know I’m sprung for this chick, and she came here with me on the back of my bike. Raven may not know what that means exactly, but everyone here sure as hell does.
She’s mine.
“This one have daddy issues?” Whiskey asks, busting my balls, and I shoot him a glare.
“Fuck off, old man. She’s here with me.”
“Hot damn,” he whistles, brows damn near to his hairline. “‘House went and found himself a woman. You done fell in love, didn’t you?”
At his words, I swiftly glance down, relaxing again once I realize Raven is looking in the opposite direction and has managed to miss Whiskey’s words altogether. When she meets my stare, I ask,“Want something to drink?”
She nods, offering a sweet smile. The look has me wanting to go out and give her the world, so long as she’ll keep the expression on her face forever. Would I be crazy to devote the rest of my life to making her happy? People do that sort of thing, right?
Whiskey’s brows are still in his hairline, but he drops the asshole-shit-talking mood. “Good for you, brother.”
