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There’s a collective gasp in the audience, and then Allie lets one ankle free, her leg stretching long before her foot comes to rest on the floor. With one leg on the pole and one on the floor, framed by her hands, she holds the splits position before she slowly, and with enviable control, lowers her leg from the pole to stand tall, as if what she just did was normal. She plays with the tie of her skirt, teasing it loose and then letting it drop to the stage at her feet.
Her costume tonight is one of my favorites, the thong framed in innocent pink satin even as the black see-through lace panel and jewels show her other side, a perfect blend of nice and naughty. The pink tone even gives me hints of the sweet ballerina inside her.
She stands proudly, letting everyone look their fill, though I suspect my eyes would never tire of her beauty, before beginning her show in earnest. It’s worthy of the fucking Cirque de Soleil, trick after trick along the pole, spinning and climbing before inverting and dropping.
It’s a show never seen in Petals before Allie arrived. She is somehow part gymnast, part dancer, and part goddess, elegance and grace woven through every athletic move as she seduces the audience.
And me.
Though she seduced me a long time ago, I find myself entranced once again by the siren song her body is singing to mine. Toward the end of her routine, she leans back against the pole, her knees bent in a sexy version of a plie with her legs spread wide.
Her hands trace her body, her breasts heaving in the corset cups, a sweet smile on her face. Her eyes look up, not at the crowd clapping and waving bills, but at the blacked-out windows to my office. I know she can’t see me, but she must know that I’m watching her, my cock rock hard in my slacks and demanding attention.
I consider palming myself, knowing it’d only take a stroke or two before I’d cum all over my hand, likely saying her name as I did so, but I force myself to refrain.
I need to be clear-headed for the meeting with Pete, not in a post-orgasmic haze.
As Allie leaves the stage, I radio down to Logan.
“Go ahead and send Pete up.”
Only a minute later, Pete sits across from me, my brain zeroing in on business, all thoughts of pleasure and Allie shutting off and getting locked down behind a wall. My cock’s even mostly deflated, although it’s not too happy about that particular situation.
My face is neutral as I greet him. “Pete. Good to see you.”
He nods casually, well aware that his position and age do not get him any special privileges or allowances in my presence, though they may grant him some on his block.
“Dominick. Thank you for seeing me, and thank you for the drink. Truly a delicious treat. How’d you know I like Japanese whisky?”
I merely nod, already done with pleasantries and ready to get to the meat of the meeting.
Sensing this, Pete clears his throat and speaks again. “I’ve got a couple of new guys in my area I thought you’d want to know about.”
“Soldiers?” I question. I don’t like fresh heat in my town without preclearing it.
“Yes, but not in the way you mean,” Pete says, choosing each word carefully. “Not Mob and not my guys. They’re actual military, from what I can tell, out of uniform now, but they ride with a group out of Johnstown. The bikes are what caught my attention. Big, loud motherfuckers, running up and down my streets.”
I choose not to correct his wording, both of us knowing that all the streets of this city are mine, not Pete’s, even if he watches over a section for me. And perhaps a taste of ownership helps him take pride in his work, even if it’s only an image of possession.
He shakes his head in annoyance and continues. “The two guys in my block are Robert Zallow and Anthony Chambers. One’s a former Lieutenant, the other a Staff Sergeant, and the group they’re riding with call themselves the Eagle Raiders. Not exactly a one-percenter group, but they get into enough shit that I wanted to mention it. Especially since these two fuckers are the first ones to set up home base in my area. I want to make sure they’re not trying to expand territory, especially not into mine. I’m doing some looking, and I’ll send you what I have, but it’s not much. I figured you’d want to dig a bit deeper than I can, see what turns up. Hell, they might be useful, one way or another.”
I nod, mentally recording the names and considering what I know about the local MC groups. East Robinsville is unclaimed by any biker group because it’s claimed by me, but it’s a prime thoroughfare to get from the docks to upstate and beyond. If the Eagle Raiders are trying to start a highway run through my city without seeking permission or paying their tolls, they’ve got another thing coming.
