Romans de Mara Sn

CHAPTER 1 — THE HOTEL BATHROOM I stood in front of the huge mirror in the hotel bathroom, heart hammering so loud I swear Ryan could hear it. The room was fancy—marble counters, soft lights, a giant walk-in shower already steaming because he’d turned it on the second we walked in. We’d just finished dinner downstairs, his hand on my thigh the whole time, whispering how he wanted to ruin me tonight. I was only twenty-four. Still, the shy girl who blushed when he talked dirty in the car. He was thirty-two, tall, built like he lifted heavy shit for fun, and always in control. Tonight his eyes looked darker in the mirror as he stepped behind me, fully dressed, while I was already down to my black lace bra and matching thong. “Hands on the counter, baby,” he said, voice low and rough. His chest pressed against my back. One big hand slid around my waist, the other cupped my chin and tilted my face up so I had to watch us. “Look at yourself. So fucking pretty and all min

The next day dragged on forever. At the office, Mr Harlan was all business, but his glances my way felt charged, like he knew my secrets. I fidgeted at my desk, replaying last night’s passion–the way he’d claimed me, body and soul. No more just dancing; we’d crossed into full territory, raw and unfiltered. His thrusts, the grip on my hips, echoes of pleasure that made focusing impossible. At lunchtime, he emailed: “My office. Now.” My heart thumping, I went. He closed the door, locking it. “Emily.” “Sir?”He stepped close, towering. “You’ve been visiting Velvet Shadows.”How? “What?”“Don’t deny.” His hand cupped my chin. “I own part of the club. Saw the bookings.” Panic surged. “I… it was a dare. For your birthday.” He smirked. “I know. And the dancer? That’s me.” The world tilted. “You?”“Masked, yes.” He pulled me against him. “Built like sin, whispering filth. Sound familiar?”Oh god. All those nights–it was him. My b isss, grind andng, fucking me in secret.“Why

The addiction hit hard after that first solo session. I’d tell myself it was the last time, but every evening after work, my feet led me back to Velvet Shadohis ws. The club became impressive, silent, a world away from the fluorescent lights and endless emails at the door. Mr Harlan was as imposing as ever during the day–barking orders in meetings, his voice like thunder that made my knees weak. But at night, in that private world a masked dancer became my obsession. His body, those muscles flexing under the dim glow, and oh god, his voice. Low, rough, promising things that made my core clench. One evening, I arrived early, nerves buzzing. I’d started dressing up more—stockings under my skirt, lacy bra peeking from my top. The bouncer nodded me through like a regular. In room 7, I waited, sipping water to calm down. The door clicked open, and there he was. Mask in place, shirt already half-unbuttoned, pants tight over his thighs. “Back again, kitten?”

I never thought I would end up in a place like this. My name is Emily and I'm just a quiet temp at this fancy corporate office downtown. You know the type–sitting in the corner cubicle, filing reports, avoiding eye contact with anyone above my pay grade. I’ve been there for three months, trying to blend into the wallpaper. But then came the office party for Mr Harlan’s birthday. He’s the big shot CEO, tall and commanding, with that sharp jawline and eyes that could pin you down from across the room. Everyone whispers about how he runs the company like a machine, but there’s this undercurrent of charm that makes people nervous and excited at once. It was after hours, and the team had dragged me to this rooftop bar for drinks. I was nursing a soda, feeling out of place among the executives. That’s when Sarah, the bubbly marketing lead, leaned over with a wicked grin. “Emily, you’re so innocent. Bet you’ve never even been to a strip club.” The others chuckled, and I felt my cheek

Conference drags. Sessions on digital trends, blah blah. My mind’s elsewhere. On him. That body. Those commands. During lunch break, I grab a salad. Sit alone. He appears. Tray in hand. “Mind if I join?” Heart skips. “Sure.” “I'm Alex,” he says. “Emma.” Fake name. “Enjoying the talks?” “Not really. You?” “Same. Rather be elsewhere.” His foot brushes mine under the table. Electric. “Last night was wild,” he whispers. Wait—what? “You knew?” He grins. “Figured it out when I saw your suitcase. But you played along so well.” Heat floods my face. “Why didn't you say that?” “More fun this way.” “Youre an ass.” “But a good fuck.” True. “Afternoon free?” He asks. “Session at two.” “Skip it. My room. Real one this time.” Tempting. “Why?” Unfinished business.” I bit my lips. “Okay.” We sneak out. Elevator up. His room—similar layout. The door sIrvice shuts, he's on me. Kissing fiercely. “Strip again.” I do. Faster. He watches, undoes the belt. “On the bed. Spread eagle.” I la

CHAPTER ONE: THE MIX-UP I drag my suitcase through the lobby, my Louboutin heels clicking on the marble floor. It’s past midnight, and this conference has me wiped out. Networking all day, shaking hands with suits who pretend to care about my pitches. My flight got delayed, so I missed the welcome dinner. Now all I want is a hot shower and bed. The front desk guy looked half asleep when I checked in. “Floor 11, suite 1504, Last room available ma’am, enjoy your stay.” He hands me the key card. I nod, too tired to chat. Elevator dings, doors slide open. The hallway is quiet, carpet muffling my steps. I swipe the card; the green light flashes, and I push the door open. The room's dark, except for a silver light from the bathroom. Steam rolls out, and I hear the sound of water running. Shower? Did housekeeping forget to turn it off? No, that’s a guy’s voice humming some tune. My heart jumps. Wrong room? But the key worked. I freeze by the door, bag still in hand. Should I bo