Their Private Need (Death Lords MC 3)

This time I ride behind Michigan and I get that they want me to trade off which makes sense. We arrive at a rundown house in a bad neighborhood. Decay shows in the peeling paint, the trampled grass and the black plastic bags taped over the window openings. Inside the house smells stale. Cigarette smoke, spilled beer and I’m not sure what else. Michigan looks like he wants to lift me up and carry me out.

There’s no actual show like at the granary but there are women here with short shorts and tight tank tops that haveHarley across the top.

They are busting out and I’m feeling my own lack distinctly. Feeling quite shy and out of place in my tight new jeans and T-shirt. I have my leather cuff on each wrist though. One from Michigan and one from Easy and those pieces of leather provide a lot of comfort. No one else is wearing one so I wonder if this is just a Death Lords thing. Another girl is wearing a smaller leather cut which has a patch that says "Property of Can Can."

A guy about my age pops up when we step across the threshold. Easy taps the offered fist and nods but says nothing. Instead he and Michigan are taking in everything.

"Thanks for coming. Can I get you something?" the boy asks awkwardly.

"Beer’s fine," Michigan says.

"And for your…girl?"

“Beer’s fine for her too.”

A jerk of his chin and another guy, not wearing a leather vest, runs up with three bottles. Everyone else here has a plastic cup. I guess it's a sign of respect.

“You got this?” Easy asks. After Michigan nods, Easy disappears with the boy who greeted us. Michigan takes my hand and walks into the living room. Even the drunk people understand to step out of his way. We find an empty table toward the back and Michigan rests against it, placing me between his legs.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s going to talk to the club pres. He’s about twenty-five and inherited a bad deal. There are older men here that are too dumb to lead, but not interested in following either.”

The beer is cold but I’m not used to the taste so I set it aside.

Michigan chuckles.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Myself,” he says. “I’ve all sorts of misconceptions and assumptions and you’re blowing them all away.”

“In a good way?”

“The best.”

He leans down and kisses my neck which makes me crazy. Someone cranks up the stereo and the bass thumps up through the thin floorboards. Once the music begins, the girls start dancing. They writhe together in sinuous and sexy forms reminding me of the strippers at the granary. It’s dark in here and it’s more shapes than anything, hints at eroticism instead of an outright display of flesh.

“Would you like to put on a show here?” Michigan whispers in my ear.

The thought makes me squirm. Seeing all those eyes on me? Feeling like the only hot thing in the room, hotter than the other girls with their big breasts and their tight booty-baring shorts? Yes, yes, I would like to put on a show. “There’s no shame in your body. You have a beautiful body.”

One large hand spans my belly and he moves it upward to cup one small breast, dragging my shirt up. His other hand is on my hip and his fingers are large enough that he can press the tips against my most sensitive areas. The denim bites into my flesh causing me to squeeze that spot between my legs that seems to throb whenever I'm within a twenty-foot radius of my men.

His mouth is doing naughty things on my shoulder. Behind me, nestled into the hollow of my bottom, is his huge erection.

My eyes flutter shut and in my imagination, I see myself dancing but it’s not a crowd in the audience, it’s just Easy and Michigan. They watch me with hungry eyes until their passion overtakes them and they grab me, throwing me on a magically appearing bed.

There’s a commotion in front of me. I open my eyes and see a man with longish hair, the exact color I can’t make out in the dark, staring at me with hot, hungry eyes. I know that look and it’s the look I’ve seen directed at those women. And suddenly the idea of being on display doesn’t excite me as much. I straighten and Michigan’s hand instantly falls away.

My sudden boldness is replaced by awkward discomfort. Michigan settles me into his side.

“You sharing?” the man asks.

Michigan places a hand on my neck. “No.”

No argument. No explanation. Just no.

The guy stands there and stares, his eyes taking off my new clothes and it makes me feel kind of dirty and not in a good way. Michigan takes a menacing step forward and he runs off.

“Sometimes fantasies work real well in your head and not so great playing them out.” Michigan continues to hold my neck, massaging me into a relaxed puddle of flesh. How he reads me so well continually is a surprise.

“How do you know which fantasies work and which don’t?” I ask. He hoists himself onto the table and pulls me onto his lap. I curl up like a kitten and rest my head against the broad wall of his chest.

“You test them out, just like we did here.”

“I wouldn’t want to share you and Easy with anyone but you’d be okay with me dancing nude in front of others?”

“Not really. I’d probably have to have one of the brothers sit on me, but these are your fantasies and I want you to enjoy yourself. Ultimately, you getting turned on would probably turn me on.”

“I was jealous of the attention those girls were getting, I guess. I’ve never been looked at like that.”

“Being watched is a turnoff for lots of folks and there are some, like Easy, that really get off on watching. Nothing wrong with either thing. But the only person I’d ever share with is Easy.” He rubs a hand down my back and continues thoughtfully, “I don’t even want a woman touching you. Having you dance? Having other guys look at you? If that made you feel good, then sure, but touching belongs to me and Easy, yeah?”

I like his possessiveness mixed with his willingness to see me satisfied but I really only would ever need their eyes, their lust and their attention. “Yeah.” I echo his words but put all my conviction behind it. Even in the dark, I can see the answering spark in his eyes. Our connection isn’t broken even when he pulls out his phone, and types something one-handed.

Easy appears as if Michigan conjured him.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Not staying?” says one of the men.

Easy takes one look at me and shakes his head. “Our girl’s worn out.”

“Thought you guys were Death Lords, not Bedlam Butchers,” jokes someone.

“Can you read?” Easy asks, his good humor gone.

“Yeah.”

“Then you know what club we’re with.”

The hecklers shut up immediately and don't say another word as we exit.

“Who are the Butchers?” I ask as I buckle my helmet on.

“Good club out of New Mexico. They’re into sharing. Do everything in pairs.”

“But we’re Death Lords.”

“You’re mine,” I say unthinking.

Michigan and Easy exchange a look. “Yeah, we are.”

When we get back to the room, Easy directs me to take a long bath. He walks in and tosses the leather chaps and a T-shirt on the sink.

“Why don’t you model these for us.”

After I dry off, I realize that the chaps have a waistband and legs but the front of my pelvis and my butt are totally exposed. I search around but find no panties, only the dark gold T-shirt. I don't believe this is a test but an invitation to play and so I screw up my courage and don the chaps and T-shirt. Straightening my shoulders, I walk out as normally as a woman who is totally exposed in her privates can.