Page 2 of His Dark Possession

“How did you even find out they were having the bachelor party here?” Carina inquires, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I thought we were coming here for a spa night.” The irony of our original plans hangs heavy in the air, contrasting sharply with the reckless adventure I’m about to embark on.

You just have to know the right questions to ask and the right men to flirt with. “You can go to the spa. I’ll be down in a while, okay?” I say, my voice steady, even though a knot of apprehension twists in my stomach. Unless something goes horribly wrong, but if I mention that, Carina will completely lose it. The last thing I need is for her to call her mom in a fit of tears, setting off a chain reaction that would ultimately ruin my carefully laid plans.

Carina stands up, her movements tinged with urgency as she reaches for the trench coat draped across the bed. Though her eyes are anxious, brimming with a dozen unspoken words she’s desperately trying to hold back, she manages to hand it to me with a slight quiver in her hands. “Do you want to have some kind of code?” she asks, her voice laced with concern.

I’m sure if I’ve reached the point where I need a code word to save me, my cover will already be blown, and Antonio will know without a doubt that I’m at the party. “I’ll be fine, really,” I reassure her, forcing a smile that feels more like a mask than genuine comfort.

“But what if they realize you aren’t actually a dancer?” Nervousness shoots through her voice, and I can see the worry etched on her face, each crease deeper than the last.

I guess now is the time to tell her that Johnston made me take classes, a fact I’ve buried deep. On those long, lonely nights when he stumbled home drunk, unable to perform, he forced me to strip and grind on him until he could manage it. “They won’t suspect a thing. Just go downstairs, get a massage, and come back when you’re relaxed. I promise I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel, hoping to quell the storm of anxiety brewing within both of us.

Carina and I part ways, each of us heading towards our own destinations. As I pull on the trench coat to conceal the sexy lingerie hidden beneath, I feel a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I make my way to the penthouse while she heads off to the spa tower, likely to indulge in some much-needed pampering. The elevator glides upward, the soft jazz playing in the background adding a touch of sophistication to the moment as it whisks me up to the thirty-sixth floor. I run my fingers through the wig, its silky strands brushing against my skin, and silently pray that Antonio doesn’t see through my carefully crafted disguise. I doubt he’s spent much time studying my picture, so I convince myself that this should be a breeze.

As the elevator doors slide open, the music crescendos, nearly vibrating the floors beneath me. Standing just outside, two security guards, their muscular frames reminiscent of Dwayne Johnson, block my path. “What’s your business here, miss?” one of them inquires, his tone both authoritative and curious.

I take a moment to assess them, then start unbuttoning the top of the trench coat, subtly revealing just a hint of what lies beneath. With a suggestive smile, I lean in slightly and say, “I’m part of the entertainment.” I let the words linger in the air, hoping to pique their interest. “Thisisthe Bianchi bachelor party, right?” The quieter of the two guards, clearly captivated,can’t seem to tear his eyes away from my tits, his gaze betraying a mix of intrigue and desire.

“Go on in,” the other guard finally says, nodding and gesturing with his thumb towards the door, allowing me to pass. The thrill of the moment courses through me as I step forward, ready to embrace whatever awaits inside.

Despite having formulated this plan a month ago, the nerves finally kick in, twisting my stomach into knots.Turn back!The little voice in my head screams at me, but I resolutely tune her out. If I turn back now, the security guards will certainly think something’s up, and I can’t afford to raise any suspicion. So, I take a deep breath, muster my courage, and step forward, pushing the door open.

The moment I cross the threshold, I am immediately hit by the pungent scent of cigar smoke, thick and cloying in the air. It seems like there are at least twenty men milling about, their conversations abruptly halting as every pair of eyes turns my way, drawn to the unexpected arrival. I quickly put on a shy smile, letting it soften my features, and dramatically strip off the trench coat, letting it slide off my shoulders to pool at my feet. “I’m looking for Antonio Bianchi,” I announce, my voice steady despite the fluttering excitement in my chest.

Half a dozen jaws drop in unison when they see my body, a reaction that sends a thrill through me. Almost all the men instinctively point toward the balcony, their expressions a mixture of shock and intrigue. Someone even calls out Antonio’s name, the sound echoing slightly in the large room.

Moments later, Antonio lazily walks back through the ornate French doors, a charming smile playing on his lips. He follows the gaze of his men until his eyes finally land on me, and I canfeel the heat of his gaze traveling over every inch of exposed skin. There’s a palpable tension in the air as he surveys me from head to toe, his appreciation evident. “And who might you be, gorgeous?” he asks, his tone smooth and inviting, sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

“Just call me Angel.” Antonio looks different from his photos. Instead of the grim line that passes for his lips, he wears a grin that sends my stomach flipping over in a delightful dance of nerves. In an impeccably tailored suit that hugs his frame in all the right places, he cuts a striking figure against the lavish backdrop of the room. His broad shoulders and dark, olive-colored skin radiate a magnetic charm; he is the Italian man that all the girls in my family dreamt of marrying when we were young, the embodiment of suave sophistication. A real dancer glances my way with curious eyes, but she quickly returns her attention to the man she’s dancing with, shaking her ample curves in his face while he buries himself in her pillowy flesh, lost in the rhythm of the music.

“Are you a gift just for me, doll?” Antonio asks, his voice a low rumble as he sets the glass in his hand down on a nearby table. He begins to cross the room with deliberate strides, each step resonating with a confidence that draws every eye, including mine. The intense, dark heat in his gaze feels as if it could ignite the very air between us, nearly setting me ablaze in a rush of longing and excitement. “I love unwrapping presents,” he adds, his words laced with a playful promise.

As he settles directly in front of me, his body merely centimeters away from mine, a rush of warmth floods my cheeks, betraying my composure. Antonio reaches forward, his fingers gliding along the concave curve of my figure with a feather-light touch, drawing it all the way down to my hip before resting there as ifclaiming ownership. “You seem a little new at this,” he whispers, his voice dripping with intrigue. He gestures subtly toward the other girl who had caught my eye earlier. “When she came in,” he continues, his gaze flickering back to me, “she took her top off.”

Fear seizes my chest, a cold, tightening grip that makes it hard to breathe. I knew that I’d have to dance for these men, at least for a short time, but I never anticipated that I would have to bare myself in front of them all, exposing not just my body but the vulnerability of my very essence. It makes sense, given the circumstances, but the thought still terrifies me, sending a shiver down my spine. “Maybe you can break me in then,” I say, forcing a cheeky grin onto my lips, trying to mask my anxiety. “In the bedroom, perhaps?”

Antonio smirks, the corners of his mouth curling up in a way that sends a thrill through me, and he grabs my hand with a confident grip. “Follow me, gorgeous,” he commands, his voice smooth and alluring.

Behind us, loud, raucous taunts erupt from his friends, their cheers echoing in the air as he leads me through a set of heavy doors that creak softly as they open. When someone pulls the doors closed behind us, the cacophony from the living room dulls to a distant murmur, leaving an almost eerie silence in its wake. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkened room, where shadows dance and play tricks on my vision. Dimmed lights spill from the ceiling, casting a soft, warm glow that barely illuminates the contours of the space, creating an intimate atmosphere that feels both inviting and suffocating.

“Are you going to dance for me?” Antonio asks, his voice low and teasing as he releases my hand and turns to sit on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed yet commanding. “Something special,perhaps,” he adds, raising an eyebrow in playful challenge, “since I just saved you from the pack of wolves outside.” The way he looks at me ignites a spark of defiance within, mixed with an undeniable thrill, as I contemplate the performance that lies ahead.

My heart feels like it’s pounding louder than the music reverberating through the living room, each thump echoing in my ears, but this is the best possible scenario I could imagine. Here I am, behind closed doors with my betrothed, a moment that carries the weight of both excitement and trepidation. “Anything you want, Mr. Bianchi,” I reply, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. I approach him slowly, each step deliberate as I try to recall everything I learned in my dance classes, the movements I practiced in front of the mirror now swirling in my mind like a dance of their own.

Before I even get a chance to mount him, Antonio grabs my hips with an urgency that takes me by surprise, pulling me into him with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. His face lands just above my belly button, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body as his grip tightens possessively. “Anything?” he asks, a chuckle rumbling in his chest that sends shivers down my spine. “So if I wanted to bed you over this bed and take you from behind, you’d let me?”

His words hang in the air, heavy with implications, and feeling his warm breath against my skin sends a shock wave of lust coursing through me, igniting a flame of desire I didn’t know I could feel in such a situation. I came here to get a better look at the man I’m going to marry, to understand the depths of his character, and now I find myself ensnared in his grasp, the lines between propriety and passion blurring. The only thing I can think of to remind me that I’m here on a mission is the factthat my betrothed is propositioning a stripper, a role I never envisioned for myself. “How do you think your fiancé would feel about that, Mr. Bianchi?” I ask, looking down at him, my voice laced with a teasing challenge, even as my heart races at the thrill of the moment.

Antonio forces me on top of him, my knees straddling each side of his powerful frame, pinning me in place. “You tell me,” he challenges, his voice low and intense. The playful smile that once danced across his lips vanishes as his hands slide around to cup my ass, creating a jolt of electricity that surges through me.

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” I stutter, my cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and excitement, my pulse quickening in response to his touch.

His fingers dig into the soft flesh he’s holding onto, tightening his grip as he leans closer, his breath warm against my skin. “You thought I wouldn’t recognize my own fiancé?” Antonio minutely shakes his head, a hint of amusement creeping back into his expression. “How sweet.”

Shit. What the fuck do I do now? My mind races, caught between the thrill of the moment and the heavy weight of what this means for us.

3

ANTONIO

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