Page 27 of Lovers Fate

The room spins, and the scene changes.

“I dance for you,” I say, moving my lips, but there is no sound.

Then moans escape my throat. I blink, only to find myself face down, chained to a table. The slapping of skin causes me to arch my neck.

“You’re so pretty filled with my cum,” a man’s voice says behind me.

I should be able to identify his voice. I feel familiarity on my skin, but my mind doesn’t know who it belongs to. It’s like I’m watching a movie play, but no one can see or hear me.

“He says, ‘You are so beautiful. Do you know what I would do to anyone if they touched you?”

A moan escapes my lips. “I have an idea.”

I don’t, but whoever this woman is, does. It’s like she is supposed to be me with a different personality in a different body.

“I think I need to remind you what I’d do to their eyes if they did,” he continues, “how I’m going to erase the memory of you when they thought about fucking you.”

“You’ll be killing all our fans, baby,” the woman says with a smile in her voice.

“For you,” he says, his voice echoing around me. “I would.”

The stage comes back into focus like a broken trance. The man wearing the top hat continues to fix his gaze on me.

I dance effortlessly to the beat, allowing my body to move in sync with the music. When the chorus begins, I give it my all, adding intricate dance moves that I’ve never done before while gracefully arching and twisting my body.

The audience’s applause is inaudible compared to my heart’s drumbeat. I can sense his undivided attention when I step closer, causing my heart to race. His features change from satisfaction to conflicted.

Excitement surges through my veins like a drug. I catch the movement of his hands moving between his thighs, adjusting himself. Any other man, I would feel disgusted by the action but not him. I walk off stage and stop in front of him between his legs.

I smile playfully, ignoring everyone else in the room.

He leans forward, I’m completely engrossed with his eyes, caught in the bottomless pools of darkness.The corner of his lips painted in black lift in a grin, causing the smile painted on his cheeks to stretch wide when he smiles.

As the final notes of the song fade, I boldly place the palms of my hands on his thighs, feeling the powerful muscles underneath. Tilting my head close enough to his ear, I ask softly, “What’s your name?”

His gaze hardens like I asked for something forbidden. “How much do you need?” His deep voice causing every nerve in my body to rise in warning to move away.

I lower my gaze in embarrassment. I swallow the bitter taste of his rejection. He’s offering me money so I can go away, and like every man who walks in here and watches me dance, he assumes I do more than that.

Jule’s words cross my mind.He isn’t interested.

He shifts in his seat, causing me to push off his thighs. I briefly glance at the woman sitting next to him. A sense of insecurity washes over me. They’re beautiful and everything I’m not. One has gorgeous red hair, while the other has white hair, both with perfectly painted porcelain faces and gorgeous, toned bodies beneath tailored costumes.

My eyes lift, insecurity replaced by rejection and anger. I smile before the next song starts to play and reply softly, “Well, I’m not dancing for change. Upon reflection, I believe you should save your singles for the next girl.”

He grips his staff and squares his shoulders. “And why is that?”

I rub my lips and run my gaze over his face, ignoring the hammering beat of my heart. “Because I’m bored.” My bottom lip juts out playfully. “You’re no fun.” I look over at the two ladies watching me. “He’s all yours, ladies.”

I step back and bow. The crowd erupts in whistles and catcalls.

As I pick up the money from the stage, I ignore the tremble in my hands and sting from his rejection.

I stand with my arms full of money, a chill tightening my skin in awareness. A large shadow looms over me. I turn around, and he’s standing, tall and commanding, at the end of the stage.

A brief silence washes over the room. My breath hitches in my throat. He tilts his head, but the top hat doesn’t fall. I can’t lie. He looks magnificent in his costume, like it was handmade.

Hard muscles ripple with patterns of ink on his skin underneath his black overcoat. When he dips his hand inside his coat pocket, he produces a red rose and delicately places it on the floor of the stage.

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