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It’s an odd name for a stripper, but I’ve heard some peculiar ones in the past.
I repeat her name, “Oak? She a tree lover or some shit?”
The Latina woman throws her head back in laughter. “Not that I know of, but you’ll see just how good she is on the pole when she comes on stage. She’s up next.”
I arch a single brow. “Guess I’ll have to see about that.”
“Trust me,” she says while giving me a playful wink as she starts to walk away. “You won’t be disappointed.”
The dancer on stage, Ebony, moves on stage with intent and precision.
Her body sways, exuding confidence, and she shows the strength of her body as she hooks a leg around the pole and spins.
She gets lost in the music, her face showing a mixture of passion and concentration.
Stripping is more than a job for her—it’s almost as if it’s a form of self-expression.
Glancing around, I notice men have their eyes glued to her.
So, why is Oak better than this woman? Ebony seems to keep everyone’s attention.
Continuing to sip on my beer, I dig into my pocket and pull out my wallet, sliding a twenty-dollar bill on the stage before me.
Ebony squats down, her big, bouncy tits right in my face, and leans over the stage. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
With a wink she rises and proceeds to collect the rest of the cash thrown on the stage for her.
She leaves the stage, and the lights dim until we’re practically in pitch-black darkness.
A new set of upbeat, emotional music beats through the speakers, and a body comes through the curtains leading backstage.
I notice the deep eggplant purple number she has on first, loving how it looks against her light mocha skin.
As I rake my eyes slowly up her body, I take in her bountiful breasts and lock eyes with her.
That’s when I realize who Oak is.
Oakleigh, Hammer’s daughter.
Hammer’s the regent for our Billings charter, who’s here in Los Angeles with the Satan’s Raiders MC.
My breath hitches in my throat as I begin to process this.
She looks more stunning and seductive than ever, with purple, black, and white braids cascading down to her ass.
They glisten under the club’s lights, showing how perfect and well-put-together they are.
I met her a few years back under stressful circumstances.
Hammer and I were in Billings, and she was about to purchase some dope.
We intervened, and the rest was history.
Never in my life did I think I’d ever see her again.
If I was a decent man, I’d get up right now and walk out of here . . . but that’s the thing, I’m not a good man. If I was, I wouldn’t be a biker.
My eyes are fixated on Oakleigh, unable to rip them away from her sinuous moves.
