^^ Smiler ^^

It's official. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. That girl has taken up every fucking cell of my brain and I only met her twelve hours ago. I didn't even pay attention to the chick that spent an hour grinding on my lap when we got back to the clubhouse last night. I couldn't; all I could think was that her hair was too light, the only curves she had were the ones she'd obviously paid good money for, and instead of a sweet and subtle perfume, she reeked of stale beer and weed. I ended up pushing her off me, ignoring the questioning looks I got from the guys and locking myself in my room. The only good thing about that bitch grinding on me was that, for the first time since Lenni wrapped her sweet thighs around me, I wasn't fucking hard.

Jay rounded us all up first thing this morning, and we all headed back to the shithole Lenni called home. I managed to ignore her completely, keeping my gaze on the floor or out of the window. Until Skids yells, and then instinct kicks in, and we all sprint to the bedroom to see what he's hollering about.

And there she is. I manage to stop without crashing into her, but only just. I'm so close that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. And holy shit, she's naked. Well, she's wearing a towel, but it doesn't cover much. Her skin is still damp from her shower, and I can't tear my eyes away as they follow a droplet of water that falls from her hair. It crawls down her back, over the ink that covers it. Over the angel wings. I almost laugh; this girl is no angel. She was sent directly from hell by Lucifer himself, to lead assholes like me straight into temptation.

Once again I find that I have no control over myself, and I only realise that I've reached out to touch her when she jumps and her head whips around, watching as I pull my finger away from the back of her neck. I'm grateful then for Skids as he shouts at us to get out, and when the bedroom door slams behind us, I hightail it straight outside for a smoke. My dick actually hurts where it pulses and rubs against the fly of my jeans, and I'm harder than I can ever remember being.

I light another smoke with the cherry of the first one and think about anything I can to try and drain the blood from my hard-on. Skids scooping my balls out with a rusty spoon when he realises what I want to do to his little girl; Philly's pale, hairy ass I got an eyeful of that time I found him bending some middle-aged whore over the pool table in the clubhouse; Pest with his knob in his hand as he watched Philly and the middle-aged whore. I sigh in relief when the pressure in my groin eases off, and I'm finally in control of my body. Mostly, well kind of. I'm still half hard but at least it's not so noticeable anymore.

I manage to keep hold of this control the whole time we're loading her stuff into the van. It doesn't escape my notice that she has barely anything with her, and what she does have is still in suitcases or boxes. If she had to leave quickly, she could be gone within minutes, and somehow I know that that's the point. When Skids tells her creep of a landlord that she's leaving, he tells us that she asked for a short lease, so he wasn't surprised. Apparently, she wanted to be able to leave without having to worry about giving notice. And when Jay tells me that she doesn't have a cell phone, it's just another piece of the puzzle that makes sense. She wants to be invisible, with no ties holding her anywhere. Well, she fucked up when she got on my bike then, because like it or not, she's tied to us now. Even if it weren't for the way my dick throbs for her, she's tied to Skids and that means there's no way any of us would let her disappear.

My control doesn't slip again until we get to her storage locker and I watch her uncover her bike. It's not my style, being more of a sleek and smooth shape than I usually prefer, but it suits her perfectly. I can imagine her long legs draped over the sides as the engine vibrates between them, and instantly my dick is doing its happy dance in my boxers again as it twitches away. What gets it straining against my jeans again though is the Harley she has hiding under another cover. From the way Skids watches her uncover it, and recognition lights his face up, I'm guessing it's his.

And then, and fucking then, she starts talking about how she got it back for him, how she fixed it up and took care of it. So now all I can picture is her bending over the bike, with a wrench in her hand and grease smudged on her face. Of course, in my imagination, she's naked while she works on it, and the imagery almost has me cumming in my pants like a thirteen-year-old boy seeing his first pair of tits.

When she stumbled into me as Skids finally put her down, I'd grabbed her arm to steady her, and I'm only realising now that I haven't let go yet. I'm only realising because Banjo, the fucking cock, has pulled out a leather suit and asked her to model it for him. So my brain is raging with jealousy as I want to yell at him that fuck no, she won't be modelling it for him because the only person she'll be modelling anything for is fucking me. But then she winces and looks up at me with those wide eyes, and I realise my grip on her arm has just gotten painful for her. Fuck this, I need another smoke.

***

She's testing me. That's what it is, what it must be. This whole thing is some kinda test to see how much restraint I have - which is fucking none. I'd been riding behind her the whole way to the bar for her shift tonight, and the way she handles that bike is just pure fucking art. I sound like a complete pansy, but I don't even care because she moves that thing like it's just an extension of her body; like it's always been there. When she pulled out of the clubhouse on her back wheel, I could tell that she wanted to totally gun it and get the hell away from me and Banjo. And she'd have been able to do it too, her bike has far more top speed than ours, plus it handles like a fucking dream and she could lose us easily. But after a few minutes, she eased up and seemed pretty happy just cruising.

I stored the images of her riding the hell out of that machine away. They'll be in my wank bank for later because right now they're pushed to the back of my mind. Right now, she's looking up at me and Banjo with an innocent look on her face that is completely false as she asks us not to mention whatever happens tonight. I almost give in, almost fall to my knees and tell her I'll do anything she asks if she'll just please stop fucking torturing me. But then I realise what she means. I was right, she dances in those fucking cages, and the last thing she wants is for us to tell Skids. Because Skids will lock her in her room and never let her leave. So no, I'm not promising anything, because her being locked in a room sounds like fucking perfection. As long as I'm locked in there with her, of course.

So the torture continues for the next god knows how many hours, as I sit next to Banjo and watch her dance in a cage that hangs from the ceiling. Her outfit covers everything it needs to, but nothing more. Part of me is glad about that, glad that nothing too private is on show. But the other part of me is like a starving man looking at a fucking cheeseburger and begging to please just be allowed a taste, just one little nibble. She moves like a dream, but for me, it's a goddamn nightmare. Her hips roll, her hands come up into her hair, before moving back down to her waist, and it's everything I ever wanted all tucked into one stunning package. My brain must be broken because I find myself being stupidly jealous of that snake that's inked around her leg. It covers as much skin as it can before wrapping around her waist and tucking its head into those tiny little shorts she wears. I can almost imagine it flicking its forked tongue out as its head rests in the crease of her thigh. If I close my eyes, I can see that forked tongue caressing the pink flesh that's hidden under her panties. Dear lord, I would never ask for anything again in this life if I could just take that snake's place.

Before I know it, she's leading us back to the bikes without a word. I'm grateful for that because I don't think my voice would work right now, and if it did I'm pretty sure the only thing that would come out of my mouth would be some kind of strangled whine as I try and get across every thought that races through my mind. She goes straight to her room when we get back to the clubhouse, and I do the same. Locking my door behind me, I head straight to the shower. I'm so hard and desperate that even with the water turned down to ice cold, it only takes three rough strokes before I'm painting the tiles white with my own fluids.

***

When I wake up the next morning, I decide that last night was the final time Lenni was going to make me her bitch. She's turned me into some weak little pussy, and I hate her for it. Jay was right; I'm totally whipped by a pussy I haven't sunk myself into yet. The thought pisses me off, and I blame that for the fact that I open my mouth and drop her in it the first chance I get. Skids is there earlier than usual, and I'm guessing that's because of his little girl in the room down the hall. I'm sitting at the bar trying to blink the grit out of my eyes when he walks in, and Banjo stands next to me nursing a cup of coffee. I can feel the tension rolling off him, and I know he's trying to figure out how to hide what we saw last night.

"Good night, lads?" Skids asks, and I have to fight to hold in the snort that wants to escape. He must mistake our silence for hangovers because he continues. "Did she give you loads of free drinks or something?" He asks, and I clench my jaw as I think that the only thing she gave me last night was a hard on and the quickest orgasm I've had in years.

I scoff and shake my head looking at the bar. "She wasn't serving drinks. She was dancing in a fucking cage wearing barely anything."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I can feel Banjo's glare eating into the side of my head, but I'm more aware of the deathly silence coming from the Irishman who stares at me with wide eyes. His gaze moves to Banjo, who opens his mouth but obviously can't find any words because I hear the clash of his teeth as he slams it shut again.

I haven't felt guilty for anything since I was a kid if I even felt it then. But when Skids storms down the corridor and I hear the slam of Lenni's door hitting the wall, followed by his shouts, the guilt makes me feel physically sick. I just wanted to vent and get my anger out, but I didn't want this. I especially didn't want the hateful glare she sends our way when she stands by the coffee machine and tells us how 'fucking lovely' we are for causing this early morning meltdown.

I'm distracted again when she draws attention to her state of undress and my eyes land on her thighs where her t-shirt ends. She flips me off before stalking back to her room. The drama has brought Pest and Philly from their rooms but I ignore them when they look to me for an explanation. When Jay comes to stand next to me and mutters a 'what the fuck is going on?' in my ear, I shrug my shoulders. Before I can think of anything to tell him, Lenni is barrelling back into the bar with her jacket and helmet. She spins on her heel and faces the hallway where Skids is following close behind her.

"Well if I'm gonna be a whore, I should go and make some fucking money shouldn't I?!" She screams, before looking back to where we all stand. "Fan-fucking-tastic."

She's out of the door before anyone can breathe, but her words are ringing loud in my ears. I stand up and the stool I was sitting on crashes to the floor behind me.

"What the fuck?" I yell, glaring at Skids.

He turns his furious gaze on me and points a finger towards me. "Don't you fucking start. You're the one who told me what she was doing!"

He has a point, but still, he was out of order. "I never said she was a fucking whore! Jesus, that's your kid!"

"I fucking know!" He roars, before pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. "Shit," he mutters, before moving to lean on the bar next to me, facing the doorway as if he can get her back here through wishful thinking.

No one speaks for a moment, and I think the drama's passed until he suddenly straightens and fixes me with a questioning look. Fuck.

"Why do you care?" he asks, and I can tell he's actually curious and not just picking another fight.

I stutter for a moment, but the best I can come up with is a shrug of one shoulder before my gaze drops to the floor. What I don't expect is for him to start laughing. It's a proper belly laugh too, and when I look back at his face, it's almost purple and his eyes are watering as he rests a hand on his stomach and fucking whoops. I look to Jay but he just shrugs and shakes his head, obviously no more clued in than I am.

"Oh boy," Skids says, slapping a hand on my shoulder and squeezing tight. "She's got you good!"

"What? No-" I start to argue but he shakes his head.

"No point denying it, lad. We can all see it."

I look at the others but the fuckers are just watching me with smug grins. Fat lot of help they are. My attention is drawn back to Skids as his hand on my shoulder clamps down tighter.

"Hurt her, boy, and you'll be begging me to let you die."

I sputter out a noise that might be a groan or a protest, but he just looks at me with a serious expression, and all I can do is nod. "Want me to go look for her?" I ask quietly.

"No. She'll come back when she's ready. She's quick to lose her temper, but it takes her a long time to calm down."

I catch Jay's eyes with my own, and I know that he's thinking about whatever it is she's running from too. She's out there alone with someone after her, and it terrifies me. I beg him with my eyes, but the subtle shake of his head tells me to follow Skids' lead on this one.