Naked for the Knuckleheads (erotic MC club motorcycle romance)

by Simone Scarlet

  Not could, she told herself. Would.

  But would she be willing to pay the price?

  Sara suddenly looked up – locking eyes with the handsome biker. She felt a thrill as she stared at them, through the curtain of sexy blonde hair hanging down in front of his face.

  “How about this,” she suggested. “If I go up there and blow it, Melissa and I will come back to your garage and make good. But if I win the prize money, you and I split it half and half and Melissa and I go home free.”

  At hearing this, Flint erupted into howls of laughter.

  “Fuck, girlfriend! You think I’m into this for the money?”

  Flint lowered his head, and breathed into the housewife’s ear: “I make two million a year building bikes and shit like that. I’m not in this for the money. I like the game.”

  He reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

  “Playing poker? This is a hobby. I wouldn’t even be here unless I had a hundred grand to throw away. You think I really care what happens to those chips?” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “This is just a game to me.”

  And then, the handsome biker sneered:

  “And what about you? You really think you’re too good to give up that pussy of yours? For a quarter of a million dollars of chips? Really?”

  Flint rubbed his infuriatingly square jaw.

  “This is Vegas. I could call up half a dozen escort agencies and have two girls delivered to my garage for less than a tenth of that. Porn stars, even – not just slutty wives on vacation.”

  Sara frowned at the insinuation.

  Flint’s eyes narrowed.

  “The reason I’m offering this to you is a whim. You and your friend are sexy bitches with husbands and kids back home. I like the idea of screwing a married woman – I really do – but only if she wants it.”

  The big man leaned closer.

  “What I’m offering you now is the deal of a lifetime. There’s three hundred grand of chips up on that table. You think porn stars make that much for screwing a room full of bikers? You think even those high-class escort girls charge that kind of dollar? Honey, that’s more than most women’s coochies could earn them in a lifetime.”

  Flint leaned in closer to Sara; until she could smell the whiskey on his breath.

  “So what do you say?”

  Sara’s mind raced.

  A million dollars. If she was right, and if she really had spotted Chang’s tell, she could walk away from this evening with a million dollars in cold, hard cash.

  That was the mortgage paid off, free and clear. That was the credit cards and her student loans and the car payments paid off. That was enough to send all three kids to college – and still leave enough for her and her husband to go on vacation.

  It was a monumental, life-changing amount of money – and it was within her grasp.

  But at what cost? She looked around the alcove, at the five loud and raucous bikers, drinking and laughing. She looked down at her friend Melissa, who was flirting intensely with Dog and Fats.

  If she went back to their garage with them – the biker hangout so nefarious the Discover Channel had run a show about it – it would be a night of debauchery and sin like she’d never experienced; never even fantasized about.

  If her husband ever found out, it would mean divorce, instantly. And could she live with herself afterward? Didn’t this make her a whore? Was her dignity – and her body – really for sale for a million dollars?

  And then Sara took a deep breath, and drained her glass of champagne.

  Of course it was.

  Hell, if her husband had been there right then and there, and she’d told him about the offer, he would probably even have agreed with her.

  Narrowing her eyes, Sara looked up and Flint.

  “Okay,” she said coolly. “It’s a deal.”

  And she felt a throb between her legs as she said it.

  * * *

  Sara’s knew her challenge was going to be Melissa.

  Not two hours earlier, she’d yelled at her best friend for getting down and dirty with two of Flint’s biker buddies. Now she was going to have to convince her to go back to their sleazy garage hangout after the poker game.

  And while Sara didn’t think convincing Melissa would be too much of a problem, she realized what a blazing hypocrite this would make her; and she didn’t think Melissa would ever let that go.

  So as Sara crossed the alcove, to speak to her best friend, she decided then and there that the prize money would have to be split. It was Sara’s gamble. It was Sara’s ridiculous idea. But if the cost of this opportunity involved her friend, she owed her.

  Melissa was slumped on the white couches, one leg resting on top of Dog’s knee, and her arm curled around Fats’s shoulders. She was behaving herself, clearly – but from her body language and expression, Sara guessed it wouldn’t take much to tip her into doing something her husband would disapprove of.

  “Hey, Melissa,” Sara knelt by her friend. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” She glared at Fats and Dog. “Alone?”

  The two handsome bikers didn’t seem offended. They gave Sara nonchalant nods and Dog murmured: “It’s cool, sugar. We’ll go get you girls some drinks.”

  After they’d both got up and headed to the bar, Sara grabbed her friend’s hand and squeezed it.

  She was about to explain everything – and how Melissa was going to go home half a million dollars richer as a result – when her friend interrupted her.

  “Hey, listen, Sara,” Melissa snapped, narrowing her big, blue eyes and leaning forward. “I know what you’re thinking, but I’m going to go home with them.”

  Sara’s jaw dropped.

  “I don’t care what you think,” Melissa continued – she’d obviously been thinking about this confrontation all evening, and was blurting out her argument incredibly aggressively, without giving Sara a chance to speak. “I know I’m a married woman, but I need this.”

  Sara blinked.

  She tried to get the words out. Tried to say: “It’s okay” and explain how Melissa’s decision was going to benefit them both. But she couldn’t. She was so floored at how her friend was reacting.

  And Melissa didn’t quit talking:

  “Trevor and I do it maybe once a month,” she continued, talking about the husband she’d left on Long Island. “He doesn’t make me feel special any more. He doesn’t make me feel sexy. And these guys do.”

  Melissa grabbed Sara’s arm and leaned in closer:

  “I need this,” she repeated, “and you’re going to let me have it. You’re my best friend, so don’t you dare fucking say anything.” Her eyes narrowed. “You owe me this.”

  Sara didn’t know what to say.

  She’d approached Melissa expecting to have to cajole her into this crazy situation. Instead her friend was practically threatening her to let it happen.

  Sara felt a hot flash of anger. This was typical of her friend; the crazy broad who turned into a tramp every time you poured a few drinks down her.

  It suddenly reminded Sara of all the nights they’d spent together back in her twenties; when Melissa would yell at her friend for trying to talk her out of going home with whichever loser she’d picked that night – and then yell at her the next morning for “letting me do that.”

  Sara’s lips narrowed.

  Well, fuck her.

  If Melissa wanted this so badly, she could have it. It served Sara’s purpose perfectly, and Melissa’s culpability meant that this momentous indiscretion – this divorce-worthy “indecent proposal” – was going to remain a secret between them.

  But if Melissa thought she was getting a cut of that money?

  Well, fuck her.

  Taking a deep breath, Sara swallowed down her anger. She forced herself to smile, and patted Melissa on the hand.

  “Okay,” Sara breathed. “You need this? It’s okay.” She rubbed Melissa’s arm; feeling guilty about spinning this situation around; so Melissa would f
eel like Sara was doing her a favor. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?”

  Melissa’s eyes widened. She smiled, and leaned forward. Before Sara could process it, she felt Melissa’s wet, warm lips on hers.

  “Thank you,” almost as soon as she’d kissed her, Melissa backed away. “Thank you, baby.” She rubbed Sara’s arm. “You’re the best, you know that? I love you.”

  Sara swallowed, and forced herself to smile back.

  In some ways, she was utterly betraying her best friend. But in other ways, her best friend had been betraying her – by pulling this kind of shit for as long as they’d known each other.

  It was payback; that was all. A million dollars’ worth of it.

  * * *

  Sara left Melissa and headed back to the bar. A glance at the clock behind the counter revealed that it was almost five o’clock in the morning, and the 45-minute break was practically over.

  “So,” Flint demanded, as she stepped up to the bar and took the glass of champagne he offered her. “Your pretty blonde friend in?”

  Sara nodded: “She’s in.”

  A wide smile spread across the handsome biker’s face.

  “Damn,” he sneered. “You know, I’ve paid for plenty of pussy in my time, but damned if this isn’t the deal of a lifetime.” He reached over and his big hand curled around Sara’s left breast. He squeezed. She remained impassive; realizing that he was merely sampling the goods he’d bought and paid for.

  Well, not paid for yet, anyway.

  “Keep your hands off the merchandise. You need to go down to the croupier and square this deal away first,” she ordered.

  Flint purred like a hungry jungle cat.

  “Okay, baby,” he nodded. “But I need a down payment first.”

  “Oh?” Sara’s eyes widened. “Like what?”

  Flint leaned forward and stroked her arm.

  “Your panties.”

  “My what?”

  “You heard.” The tall man leaned in so close that Sara could feel his breath on her neck. “Hand ‘em over, sweetheart.”

  She swallowed.

  With trembling fingers, Sara reached under the hem of her too-short dress and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. She wiggled her bottom, and slid them down over her hips. A moment later, she was stepping out of them, and handing them to Flint.

  The big man balled up her thong panties in his hand and lifted them to his nose – giving them a long, predatory sniff.

  “Mmmmmm,” he purred. “Smells good.” He winked, and Sara felt a throb in her now-bare pussy. “I can’t wait to taste it.”

  Chapter Eight

  The break was over. The remaining poker players re-gathered at the table.

  Howard Chang was sitting at the head of the table, and his impassive yellow face was like a mask. He reviewed the remaining players like a wolf surveying a herd of sheep.

  But as Sara stepped down the stairs and took her place back at the poker table, she wasn’t fazed by his sneering demeanor. She was onto something – and in a few hands of the deck, he wouldn’t know what hit him.

  As long as, that was, the organizers of the game were willing to accommodate Flint and Sara’s arrangement.

  To answer that question, Flint himself swaggered up to the croupier, and jerked his thumb towards his pile of chips.

  “Yo, dude. The lady and I had a private hand of cards back in our alcove, during the break – and I lost. I’m paying her in my chips. That okay?”

  The croupier frowned – peering at the imposing figure of Flint, and then at the small, sexy woman he was trying to give his chips to.

  “You want to give your chips to another player?”

  “Yeah,” Flint nodded. “It’s my money, right? I can do that.”

  “Technically, that would be considered “going south”,” the Croupier explained. “But since Mr. Chang is sponsoring this game, I believe it’s his call.”

  Flint’s tanned faced turned a little paler when he heard that.

  But not missing a beat, the tall musician followed the croupier to the head of the table, where Howard Chang was sitting, like a porcelain Buddha, overlooking his domain.

  Sara watched this from her stool – sitting in front of her own, significantly diminished pile of chips. She barely had a few thousand left. If that had been real money – money she could have cashed in and walked home with – it would be an incredible fortune.

  As it was, it meant nothing.

  Winner takes all, she remembered.

  At the head of the table, Howard Chang sat, impassively counting his chips. When the croupier shuffled over to him, he cocked his big, bald head to one side and listened.

  And Sara watched him intently as he did so; because this was going to be her chance to prove her theory; that she’d spotted his “tell.”

  Chang nodded at the croupier and straightened up. He beckoned towards Sara and Flint with one of his big, podgy hands.

  Throwing each other a knowing, concerned look, Sara and her partner slid off their stools and crossed the room to where Howard was sitting.

  The scary little man didn’t even turn to look at them. Still counting his cards, he murmured: “I hear you have made an arrangement. Is this true?”

  Flint sniffed definitely. “Yeah, it’s true. You got a problem with that, friend?”

  Chang stopped counting. Slowly, his big, yellow head swiveled until he was staring up at the two of them intently.

  From the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled a silver-plated inhaler and took a deep puff from it.

  “The game is Winner Takes All,” the podgy Chinaman said, in his crisp accent. “You handing your chips to the young lady here does not diminish the amount of money still in play.” He took another puff, and smacked his lips. “Therefore I am not concerned.”

  Flint looked to Sara, and then back at Chang.

  “So we’re cool, brother?”

  “Indeed,” the big man said impassively.

  “And me and my crew will just hang back and watch the rest of the game.” He jerked his thumb towards the alcove filled with his posse. “Seein’ as it’s bought and paid for, I figure I’ve got every right to.”

  Chang dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “It’s of no concern to me.” He narrowed his eyes at Sara. “Now take your place, young lady – and let’s play some poker.”

  * * *

  Moments later, Sara was back on her stool – and the croupier was sliding Flint’s pile of chips over to her.

  She had a fortune in front of her – the third largest stake in the game now. With just five players left, she knew she had a shot; but not enough of one for Chang to pay any special attention to her at this point.

  Flint lingered over her shoulder for a second.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he told her. “I suppose I shouldn’t care either way – in any event, you and your friend are payin’ up after this is all over.” But then he shrugged. “Still. You’re a nice lady.” He reached out and touched her shoulder. “I want this to work out for you.”

  Sara smiled up at the handsome biker.

  “Thanks,” she nodded. “Now, go and pour yourself a drink and watch me earn a million dollars.”

  As Flint left, the game began again. The dealer drew the three cards of the Flop and then passed out cards to the assembled players. Sara looked at hers, and saw a disappointing two of clubs and five of spades – giving her at best a low-ranked pair when slid into the Flop.

  But it didn’t matter – she needed a few hands to get her groove on anyway.

  Sara passed on that first hand, and saw Chang ride it around the table twice; egging on one of the other amateur poker players until he’d gambled half his chips on the outcome. Sara started to get concerned; she hadn’t spotted Chang’s “tell” yet.

  But when the hand was eventually called, she discovered why. The pale Chinaman had been bluffing. He had a similarly poor hand – a single pair of fours �
�� and had been riding the other player on bluster alone.

  That gave Sara all the insight she wanted. She knew now when Chang was holding a good hand, and when he was bluffing – and that’s all she needed.

  The next hand, Sara was dealt a great hand – enough to build a straight flush when combined with the cards in the flop. She peered at Chang thoughtfully as he met the first raise, and figured that he wasn’t holding any cards of particular value.

  So she focused instead on the other players.

  Biting her bottom lip, she pretended to be concerned about her hand. As a rank amateur being dealt in thanks to winning slots ticket, it didn’t take much to paint herself as uncertain and nervous – and the other players fell for it.

  They raised on the next round; and Chang folded – neatly confirming Sara’s instincts about him. Sara deliberately nibbled at her nails and stalled at meeting the next raise; and managed to coax another round of raises out of the other players by doing so.

  On the third round, the hand was called – and Sara easily won; defeating a full house and three-of-a-kind. Piles of chips were pushed across the table towards her, and Sara suddenly found herself in the enviable position of being second in the game.

  Slightly less enviable was the interested glare that Chang gave her as she collected her winnings – as if he’d suddenly cottoned onto the fact that she was a better player than he might have realized; and that allowing her to accept Flint’s chips might not have been his smartest move.

  “Well played, young lady,” Howard nodded dryly, as she assembled her chips into neat stacks. “That was very neatly done.”

  “Well, you know,” Sara tried to blow it off, “beginner’s luck.”

  The corners of Chang’ lips turned up slightly.

  “At this level of poker? There’s no such thing as luck.” His eyes narrowed. “I think this game just got interesting.

  And it had.

  Sara was dealt an ace in the next hand; which gave her three of a kind when paired with the two aces in the Flop. It was a respectable hand, but she decided to fold when she looked across the table at Chang.