Naked for the Knuckleheads (erotic MC club motorcycle romance)

by Simone Scarlet

  Why?

  Because she’d noticed the subtlest, almost imperceptible color appear in his cheeks – a flush that she’d identified as a “tell” for when he had a hand of cards worth getting excited about.

  And she soon learned she’d made the right decision.

  The player who’d beaten Howard in the earlier round had imagined he’d smelt blood; and so repeated his strategy. He called high raises on the first round, and then the second. When Chang met his raises, he pushed the last of his chips forward and challenged: “All in.”

  Chang nodded; and the hand was called.

  A moment later, stunned, the wannabe poker star was watching his entire pile of chips get pushed towards Howard Chang.

  “But…” his mouth opened and shut like a fish. “I was sure…”

  One of his group of friends stepped out of the alcove, down the steps and slowly led the blinking player away from the table.

  The next few rounds of hands played out in a similar fashion. Sara only played when she was sure she couldn’t see the flush of excitement in Chang’ cheeks – and that allowed her to out-bid and out-bluff the two other players and drain their pile of chips. She personally knocked one of the remaining players out with a triumphant four of a kind. The last player lost to Chang, going “all in” out of desperation.

  Finally, it was just Sara and the Chinaman at the table.

  Chapter Nine

  “Now things get interesting,” Chang nodded, and he tossed his ante into the pot.

  Sara followed; and then watched his face intently as the cards her dealt.

  She played aggressively during the next two hands, and won both of them. On the third hand, the flush to Chang’ cheeks didn’t display itself, so she rode a single pair of tens further than any rational player should have done - and was rewarded with a fat pile of chips in return.

  “Hurumph,” Chang grumbled, as he watched his stockpile of chips diminish. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his inhaler; taking two puffs.

  The big Chinaman didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Sara could tell that she’d got him flustered. That single “hurumph” was more emotion than he’d expressed all evening.

  And then things changed.

  Sara could tell the moment she’d tossed her chips into the ante and looked at her cards. She held the Two of Spades and the Four of Spades – and that give her a Straight Flush when combined with the cards in the flop – a million-to-one hand that was one of the highest in poker.

  But at the same time, Chang was showing his tell – his cheeks turned pink almost imperceptibly.

  Now was the make-or-break moment; and Sara had to go for it.

  When it was her turn, she paused and counted to ten slowly in her head; trying to give the impression that she was uncertain about what she was about to do; despite never having been more sure of anything in her life.

  Eventually, she spoke:

  “It’s late,” she told Chang. “And we could be here all night swapping chips. How about we give the folks watching this a show to remember?”

  Howard’s piggy little eyes narrowed.

  “What did you have in mind, young lady?”

  “You and I pretty much have the same number of chips,” she observed – and then pushed her entire stack into the center of the table. “How about we go All In?”

  Howard’s face froze.

  After Sara’s careful strategy throughout the game, this was an out-of-character move. The outcome of this one hand would, ultimately, decide the game.

  But in whose favor would the cards fall?

  Sara knew that Chang held a very good hand – the flush in his cheeks was the “tell” that confirmed that. But how good?

  Enough to bet a million dollars on?

  But therein lied Sara’s strategy. Chang had warned her that there was “no such thing as luck” in this level of poker; but that didn’t stop each hand being a gamble.

  There was no way either player could know for sure that they had the winning hand; and that was what made it so addictive - and that addiction was like a drug.

  Howard Chang licked his lips. He peered down at his pile of chips, and then across the table towards Sara’s.

  And just as Sara had gambled he would, he pushed the chips across the table.

  “All in,” he said emotionlessly.

  There was a hush around the poker table, as all the people still watching realized that the winner was about to be decided.

  Chang’s hand was the first to be laid down – and it was two aces. That gave him an unbeatable three-of-a-kind; a very good hand. He allowed himself to smile as Sara watched his cards lined up with the others in the flop.

  But it was only other three-of-a-kind hands that would be unbeatable; and when Sara passed her cards over, that smile quickly reversed itself.

  A straight flush – from the Ace of Spades to the Five of Spades in an unbroken progression.

  Sara had won.

  There was a hush through the room, and then murmuring voices as people began to realize what had happened. The croupier started passing all the chips over to Sara, and she looked in amazement as a million dollars slid towards her.

  And Howard Chang flopped back in his chair, utterly defeated.

  For a moment, he lounged there, like a deflated bullfrog. Then, he looked up at Sara, narrowed his eyes and hissed: “You cheat.”

  “Now, now, sir,” the dealer reached out and touched Chang’ shoulder. “Everything was above board and per-the-rules.”

  Chang shook the dealer’s hand off his shoulders and pushed back his chair. Standing up, he pointed at Sara and hissed: “You and that bike-riding bastard were conspiring! That’s why he gave you her chips.” He turned to the dealer. “They were cheating.”

  “Sir,” the dealer said very evenly and calmly, “it was your choice to allow them to do that – and there was no impropriety during the game itself.”

  Chang’ fat face turned pink.

  “This is an outrage,” he hissed; and then wheeling around, he marched off towards the door snarling and hissing.

  Sara watched him go, and didn’t breath until the fat Chinaman was out of the room. Then, exhausted, she flopped back into her seat.

  It was over.

  And, more than that, she’d won.

  She’d won!

  Chapter Ten

  A million dollars. More money than Sara could possibly imagined in her lifetime. And it was hers!

  She felt tears well up in her eyes. This was like a dream.

  “Miss,” it was Ted Blundel, the “microphone man” from earlier. “Miss, are you okay?” Sara sniffed and looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. “You’ve won.”

  From there, it was kind of a blur. She was dragged out of her seat and in front of a camera for a moment, where Ted prompted her to talk about the game, and winning, and how great the hotel was – she couldn’t even remember half of what she said.

  Then somebody else in a suit came – she’d have pegged him as a banker, but it turned out it was one of the people who ran the behind-the-scenes cash desk of the casino. He had her sign half a dozen different forms – tax forms, releases, indemnities…

  And then she heard the magic words: “The money’s yours.”

  Ted Blundel shook her by her limp hand.

  “We’ll have a cashier’s check written up for you at 3pm tomorrow,” he glanced at his watch. “Actually, that would be today, I suppose.”

  Sara’s head swam. A million dollars? Today?

  “T-that’s fine,” she stammered. Do I just come back here?”

  “Meet me in the lobby and I’ll assist you,” Ted nodded – and then he yawned. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to get a few hours of sleep first.”

  And just like that, it was over. The crowd of other players and their friends and family were dissipating, and none had much to say to Sara, as she sat on her stool. Small wonder, she thought. Most of the other players had wanted
to be in her place at the end of the night.

  Suddenly, she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked up; into the dark and smoldering eyes of Flint.

  “Well,” the handsome biker grinned, from behind the curtain of his shaggy blond hair. “You did it.”

  He bent down and kissed her rather sweetly on the cheek. “You told me you could do it, and you did.”

  And then his lips moved - pressing hard against her mouth.

  Sara’s eyes grew wide as she felt the soft, yet insistent pressure of Flint’s lips on hers. Instinctively – she was a good kisser, after all – her mouth opened; and a moment later his tongue slipped inside her mouth.

  “Mmmmm,” licking his lips, Flint reluctantly pulled away. “I’m going to enjoy collecting what you owe me.” And then he squeezed her hand and helped her slide off the barstool.

  Hand in hand, they stepped up into the alcove, where Flint’s gang of bikers were swigging the last of their drinks and grabbing their leather jackets.

  Sara found Melissa right where she’d left her – on one of the leather couches. The only difference was, Dog was making out with her hot-and-heavy, tongue down her throat and hand up her skirt. Meanwhile, Fats had one of her big, milky breasts out of her dress and was sucking on her pink nipple eagerly.

  Sara rolled her eyes.

  “C’mon, crew,” Flint ordered, and even the two men ravishing Melissa looked up. “Let’s keep this party going back at the garage.” And with that, he led the way to the exit.

  Sara scurried over to where Melissa was sitting. Lipstick smudged, hair all mussed up and her face flushed, she looked like she’d been making out with those two guys for a while.

  “Oh, hi Sara,” Melissa murmured, popping her stray boob back into her dress. “Grab your coat.” She wrapped her fingers around Sara’s wrist. “We’re going back to their garage.”

  Sara nodded, dumbfounded.

  Melissa hadn’t even asked her if she’d won.

  Chapter Eleven

  The elevator whizzed them down from the top floor to the lobby, where outside in the warm Nevada evening, the bikes of the Knucklehead gang were parked out on the sidewalk.

  Sara and Melissa widened their eyes as they saw them – gleaming Harley Davidsons, covered in chrome and customized details. Each one probably cost what Sara’s SUV back at home had.

  “C’mon, girls,” Flint grabbed Sara’s tiny had in his, and led her to the bikes. “It’s an hour’s ride to the garage.”

  “Ride?” Sara looked up at Flint, towering over her. “You want us to ride with you?”

  “Well, how else do you figure we’ll get there?” Flint insisted, helping her over to his ‘hog’ what she’d later learn was a heavily customized FXDWG “Wide glide”. “You wanna catch a bus?”

  “I-I…” Sara blinked. She was suddenly aware that she was wearing a tiny black dress that barely covered her ass – and Flint had her panties in the pocket of her jeans. “Flint, I don’t think I can make it an hour on that thing.”

  “Ah, don’t be crazy,” Flint grinned. “C’mon.” And with that, he helped her swing her leg over the back of the Harley, and Sara suddenly found herself astride the massive bike; the enormous leather seat cupping her bare ass-cheeks like warm, soft hands.

  Her eyes widened. It was the most exposed she’d ever felt in her life – but with the soft leather nuzzling her bare pussy, she wasn’t exactly unhappy about the situation either.

  Sara turned her head and saw Melissa straddling the bike that Dog was riding – and the big biker gratuitously cupped one of Melissa’s ass cheeks as he helped her swing her thigh over the seat. Sara remembered watching Melissa getting eaten out on the white leather couches upstairs – it was very doubtful she was wearing panties either.

  Flint climbed onto his Harley and Sara nervously wrapped her arms around his muscular midriff. His whole body was hard and hot. She felt a thrill run through her as she pressed her head against his broad back; her cheek feeling the soft caress of his leather waistcoat and her nostrils filling with his musky, manly scent.

  Flint fired up the Harley.

  The whole machine rumbled between Sara’s thighs. Her eyes shot open.

  “Oh my God!”

  The steady ‘dug-dug-dug’ of the enormous motorcycle engine was transmitting the vibrations directly through to Sara’s bare thighs and exposed pussy. It was like somebody was pressing a Hitachi Magic Wand right against her clitoris.

  “Heh heh,” Flint grinned, as he let in the clutch at the enormous bike rolled off. “Now maybe you can understand why biker dudes never have any problem finding chicks.”

  With the exhaust burbling, the six bikers rolled their enormous bikes down South Las Vegas Boulevard.

  At the traffic lights, Flint’s bike purred to a halt, and another menacing Harley pulled up alongside it.

  It was Dog’s – a gleaming Road King Classic - and on the back, desperately clutching her purse, was Melissa.

  Her long, blond hair was a windswept mess, and she had to pull it from her eyes to look across towards Sara.

  “A-are you okay?” Sara cried over the ‘dug-dug-dug’ of the rumbling engines.

  “I’m fine,” Melissa purred, her cheeks pink and her eyes dilated from a night filled with cocktails. She squeezed the bulk of Dog, who was hunched over the handlebars. “I-I’ve only got one problem,” she admitted.

  “What’s that?” Sara cried.

  Melissa winked: “If this bike keeps vibrating like this,” she slurred, still slightly drunk, “I’m going to leave a wet patch on the seat.”

  And then the lights turned green, and the Harley roared off down the strip.

  Chapter Twelve

  Moments later, the six bikers were roaring onto the on-ramp of the Las Vegas Freeway, headed south.

  Sara was terrified. She clung desperately to Flint’s shoulders as the wind whipped her hair around her eyes, and the bike swerved in and out of traffic.

  The vibrations between her legs continued, and mixed with the adrenalin, it was turning out to be one of the most intense experiences of Sara’s life.

  “Hey, Yo!” Flint roared over his shoulder, his voice barely audible. “You realize you’re a millionaire now, right?”

  “I-I guess I am,” Sara roared over the sound of the wind, not quite believing it herself.

  “Well, listen to me,” Flint laughed. “You and your friend back there have a bargain to hold up – and it doesn’t look like blond is wasting any time.”

  As they swerved through traffic, Sara swallowed hard and found the bravery to look around. Behind her, straddling Dog’s motorcycle, was Melissa. Her blond hair was whipping around her face and her tiny dress was plastered to her body. Melissa’s hand, she noticed, was shoved down the front of Dog’s jeans.

  Sara narrowed her eyes and laughed quietly to herself.

  She’d thought she’d have to talk her friend into paying their end of the bargain. In truth, Melissa was the kind of girl who’d have done it for free.

  * * *

  Minutes later, they’d left the towering buildings of Las Vegas and were headed west, on the Blue Diamond Road. It took them through the desolate desert of Nevada – the warm sun rising over the towering red buttes, and the sound of cicadas audible over the deafening roar of the six Harley Davidsons.

  Sara had to admit, it was beautiful. She’d seen her share of sunrises over the years, but never one like this – that stole across the horizon and lit up the miles and miles of scrub and desert like fire.

  She clung to Flint’s back, and nuzzled her hips into the seat; biting her lip as the vibrations continued to shudder through the bike’s frame and drive her increasingly crazy with need.

  “Hey,” Flint grinned, and he swung the bike to the right. “Check this out.”

  And the big wheels of the Harley suddenly fell in line with the ‘rumble strips’ at the edge of the road – designed to wake up sleepy drivers if they drifted too close to the edg
e.

  In Sara’s case, though, they had the opposite effect.

  Up until now, the vibrations of the road had been an insistent, sexy drone between her legs. As soon as he hit the rumble strips, Flint turned that up a notch.

  “Oh, God!” Sara’s eyes flew open, and she clung to Flint’s back. The bike rumbled and shuddered between her thighs, and her clit throbbed at the stimulation. “Oh my…”

  She came.

  Sara couldn’t believe it.

  Sitting there, on the back of a virtual stranger’s bike, she orgasmed loudly and deeply – clinging to Flint’s back as her pussy gushed onto the seat.

  “Hehe,” Flint grinned, as he swerved the bike back off onto the smooth asphalt of the highway. “Just a little trick I learned over the years.”

  Sara panted, and lay her head on Flint’s broad back.

  “Th-that’s one hell of a trick,” she gasped.

  “I’ll show you a few more when we get back to the garage.”

  And, as it happened, that took less time than Sara or Melissa imagined it might.

  As Blue Diamond Road forked into Pahrump Valley, another endless stretch of desert highway, the shape of a remote gas station appeared in the distance. Sara narrowed her eyes and peered over Flint’s shoulder – identifying it as “Knucklehead’s Garage” by the words on the neon sign searing through the early morning gloom.

  It looked like something out of a movie – an old aircraft hanger, backed onto a tiny one-story garage with a couple of gas pumps out front. Dozens of cars and bikes were parked around it – even an old biplane sitting out back (although it looked like it hadn’t flown for fifty years.)

  “Here we are,” Flint barked, as he swerved the bike off the highway and into the dusty lot. “Home sweet home.” And with that, the six bikers rolled their Harleys straight through the open doors of the garage, into the cool, dark gloom within.

  Chapter Thirteen