Page 124 of Sinful Desires
No one touched her. No one fucking dared.
She stopped at the bar five times. Didn’t need a drink, didn’t even finish half of them. Just leaned over the counter, dragged her fingers around the rim, lips parted slightly, and made sure I was right there to see it. Then she’d glide back to the booth, drink in hand, smile sharp enough to slit my throat.
And I followed. Every fucking time. No matter how much I fucking hated this place, at least I was near her.
Now, she was still perched there, sipping her fifth virgin mojito, heel bouncing, eyes heavy lidded.
Strippers kept coming. Red latex. Leather straps. Glitter stuck to skin. Each time, she threw them bills, whistled, clapped, laughed, and climbed on the booth to dance along. Her idiotic boyfriend was drunk, swaying from side to side as a stripper grabbed his face and shoved it between her tits.
Scarlett pulled out her phone and started recording, laughing with Victoria like it was the best thing they’d seen all night.
I stayed where I was, breathing through my teeth.
Then she glanced over. A slow, cold look, like the sight of me made her sick.
Good. Hate kept us honest. At least that meant I still existed in her head.
A hand caressed my arm. “The redhead paid for your lap dance. This way, big man.” The stripper’s voice purred, her voice sweet and high, the kind of tone that had probably convinced a hundred fuckers they were special right before she climbed into their laps and emptied their wallets. Her nails dragged down my vest. She pressed her tits against my arm and smiled up at me.
I didn’t look at her. My eyes were on Scarlett.
Again.
She sat across the room, drink perched between two fingers, lips parted around the rim in something halfway between mockery and boredom. Her thighs gleamed under the lights, crossed delicately, her heel bouncing slightly in that impatient little rhythm. She lifted her glass toward me with a smirk, like she was offering a toast.
Her stupid boyfriend had wandered off with Victoria toward the main stage. Scarlett didn’t even glance after him. Her eyes were on me now.
This wasn’t flirtation. It was fucking war.
“She paid for two hours,” the stripper said, breath hot on my neck. “Not that I’d be checking the clock, sugar. With that jawline? Those eyes?Thatbody? I’d love to ride your cock untilthe sun came up and my knees gave out.” Her hand slid down my stomach, nails grazing the edge of my belt.
Scarlett raised an eyebrow at me across the club and took another slow sip, lips wrapping around the straw.
“How much?” I asked.
The dancer giggled, grinding her hips lazily against my leg. “Thirty-five thousand, sugar.”
Scarlett tilted her head, watching me like she wanted to see if I would fold. If I would betray what I had just told her, that no one else existed to me.
But she was the one who’d fucking betrayed me. The one who had lied.
She’d told me I was the only one, had said it with that voice that made men drop to their knees. And now some other man had his hands on her.
I’d never looked into him. Never traced his past, never pulled apart his life. Because I knew the second I found something off, even a whisper of a lie, I would kill him. I would do it slowly, with blood on my hands and her name in my mouth. Not out of jealousy. But because he wouldn’t be the man she fucking deserved.
So let her test me. Let her sharpen her teeth on every word I gave her and see if I flinched.
I wouldn’t. I’d bleed just to prove I still fucking belonged to her.
I looked down at the stripper. Long blonde hair, brown eyes, and tits practically spilling out of her top now, eyes heavy with the kind of invitation most men would sell their soul for.
“Lead the way.”
Chapter
Thirty-Three
“Man may have discovered fire, but women discovered how to play with it.”
