Ethan's Sky (King's Of Fury MC Book 1)

Prologue

Ethan

The music fills the air as I walk through The Velvet Pearl looking for a table away from the crowd. I don’t want to talk. I’m not looking for a date. It’s been a long ass week and all I want is to have a few drinks and enjoy the show. Alone.

Finding a booth toward the back of the room with a straight on view of the stage, I take a seat. A pretty dark-haired waitress wearing a sexy purple corset and short black skirt, fishnet stockings and fuck me heals smiles prettily at me as she asks, “Can I get you something to drink, Sugar?”

“Bourbon.”

“You got it, honey. Be right back.” She winks and heads to the bar.

The Pearl is not the average gentlemen’s club. It’s classier than any place I’ve ever been in. Classier than my brother Ghost’s strip joint, Glitz and Tass.

This place has high back booths and long velvet curtains separating each table. The place screams high class. The shows are sensual and not every night is the same show. The costumes are sexy as hell, and though they might lose a piece here and there, the dancers never get completely naked. But damn if they don’t make you want them too.

The women here don’t bare all unless you pay them extra and only by reservation in the private rooms on the second level.

On stage, they dance.

It’s seductive, alluring, a tease without the full reveal. Not that I don’t appreciate strippers, but sometimes it’s nice to have something left to the imagination. It gives the impression of a challenge which I find excites me.

Club whores are always walking around the clubhouse naked, and more than eager to give it up. It’s too fucking easy. I’m not saying I haven’t taken advantage of the girls when I needed a quick pump-n-dump when I was younger, but over the years club girls lost their appeal.

Plus, these women aren’t after my cut.

I never wear it when I come here, not wanting to stick out in the crowd. Being an amateur MMA fighter from the small town up the road already makes me recognizable. But being a patched member of the Kings of Fury MC draws even more attention. There’s always at least one woman who thinks she’ll be the one to make the bad boy biker fall and claim her as his.

Not gonna happen. Been there, done that.

I had a girl once. She was my one. My forever girl. Or at least, I thought she was. Until she left without so much as saying goodbye. It was a while before I finally got my shit together, and I promised myself I’d never let another woman own me the way she did. Losing her was like losing a piece of myself.

A piece you’re still missing.

I shake the thought from my mind.

No, I don’t want attention tonight. I came here to forget about fighting and club business for one night. Something’s been off with me this week. My training sessions have been shit. I’m not sleeping, always on guard. For what, I have no fucking clue. I can’t shake the feeling of impending doom.

Everything seems to be fine with everyone else. Pres hasn’t said there’s any issues going on, but I can’t help feeling like there’s a shitstorm on the horizon.

Needing to clear my fucking head and get some distance, I hopped on my bike and went for a ride. That’s how I found myself here.

The lights drop low. The music starts. When the spotlight hits the stage, I find myself gripping the edge of the table. Seven women span the stage all dressed in black leather outfits. Each one a little different from the next. Some have on short skirts while others wear butt-cut shorts. Two have some ruffled lacy shit across their asses.

Each one is wearing a top specially fit to their tits, putting their best assets on display. The only thing matching among them is their Mardi-gras masks and the black high heeled boots climbing their legs and stopping mid-thigh. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Then she comes down the steps in the middle of the stage, and the others separate, making room for her. The spotlight hits her, and my breath catches and my cock stirs.

Goddamn.

The women all pop their hips in unison with the beat of the music. Everyone is moving the same, but there’s something about the beautiful redhead with the shapely legs and perfect tits dancing center stage I can’t force my eyes away from.

My cock thickens, growing harder with each passing second, very aware of the exotic creature before me wanting to get better acquainted. I agree. I need an up close and personal introduction while I pound into her wet heat with those legs and those boots wrapped tightly around my waist.

Her black shorts are cut just short enough the bottom of her luscious ass cheeks peek out while they bounce with every move she makes. The front dips low, barely a fingertip’s width above her pussy.

I’m certain with how low cut those shorts are, she’s bare underneath. The tiny scrap of material has me envisioning myself pulling them down with my teeth, licking her clit and bringing her to orgasm before stripping her bare and fucking her against a wall.

Her porcelain skin appears to be unmarked. Sweat and her diamond belly ring glitter as the spotlight follows her around the stage.

Her body is defined. Muscular but still feminine.

My eyes travel up her navel to her mouthwatering tits wrapped in a black leather halter top. It squeezes her tits together showing the perfect amount of cleavage. There’s no way those things are fake the way they jiggle and bounce as she moves. My hands tingle with the need to touch and squeeze, watching them bounce as she rides my cock.

Her long red hair swishing back and forth with each hard thrust of her hips as she stomps across the stage in unison with the others. They turn to pair off,, her hand sliding up the thigh of her partner. Her hair falls in waves down as she arches her back. Her partner’s fingers trace down the valley between her tits to the top of those fucking shorts. Cat calls and wolf whistles fill the room.

The dancers break off, leaving the beautiful goddess centerstage. She crawls to the edge, dragging her knees. Her back arches as she moves each step in time with the beat.

My cock strains against my zipper.

She leans back, rolling her hips, her hand over her head, and as she humps the air. Her hand grabs her tit then slides down between her legs grabbing her crotch. I want nothing more than for it to be my hands exploring her every curve and valley. When she arches up, her legs scissor open then closed to the rhythm. She bites her lip, not making eye contact with anyone, completely lost in her performance and the music. She’s shut everything and everyone out around her except the music. It’s like she’s not performing for the crowd. Not like the other dancers who are intentionally smiling and making eye contact with the patrons near the stage. She doesn’t care about the people watching. She’s in her own world. One I’d like to visit.

She’s mesmerizing.

I was wrong. I do want attention tonight. Hers.

When the waitress brings my bourbon, I nod to the stage, never taking my eyes off her and ask, “Who’s the redhead in the middle?”

“That’s Lady Scarlet,” she offers as she drops the napkin and sets down my drink. “She’s pretty popular. It’s why the boss likes her. She draws a crowd.”

I don’t like how everyone else is watching her like this. It’s stupid, I know. I have no claim to her, but I want to be the only one she dances for.

I could pay for a private dance.

“Who do I see to get some one-on-one time with her?”

The waitress shakes her head. “Not gonna happen, sugar. Management doesn’t allow her to give privates.”

Her words pull my attention from the stage momentarily. “Why?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Mine is not to ask questions, but to serve the customers.” I get what she’s saying. When you work for someone like Vincenzo Parisi, ignorance is bliss. Especially when it means working for one of the most feared mafia bosses in the states.

I focus my attention back to my fantasy turned real on the stage as the song is coming to an end. She’s still in her own world, lost in the music, as she drops low to the ground, crawling forward, sliding her tits across the stage, her hand stretched out in front of her luscious ass high up in the air.

Jesus, I want to hit that ass. Just. Like. That.

When her head finally pops up with the last beat of the song, she’s panting, sweaty, and finally…our eyes lock.

Hello beautiful.

She gasps. Or maybe I imagine it. But right here in this moment, I make a vow to myself to have her in this very same position, naked and writhing as I take her and make her mine.