THE GAME BEGINS

Ash's POV

The next day's performance went smoother than the first. I was finding my rhythm and how to move in ways that made them throw more money. It still felt like selling pieces of my soul, but at least I was getting better at it.

"You keep dancing like that, you'll be fully booked for VIP within a week," Marco said, appearing beside me as I collected bills from the stage. "Andreas's boy toy is about to become everyone's favorite."

"Fuck you," I said without heat. “I'm nobody's toy boy.” I hissed.

He grinned. " Tell that to Andreas, Love you too, sweetheart."

I was heading to the dressing room when one of Andreas's bodyguards materialized in front of me. Big guy, shaved head, expression that suggested he could break me in half without breaking a sweat.

"The boss wants to see you," he said. 

Marco whistled low. "Someone's been a naughty boy."

I flipped him off and followed the bodyguard through a maze of hallways I'd never seen before, deeper into the club's interior. We stopped at a door that looked different from the others—heavier, more expensive, with a keypad lock.

The bodyguard punched in a code and gestured for me to enter.

I opened the door and stepped into what looked like a fantasy room. Deep red walls, low lighting, a massive bed. There were mirrors on the ceiling—Jesus Christ—and what looked like restraints subtly attached into the bed frame.

There, lounging on a leather couch like he owned the world (which, technically, he kind of did), was Andreas.

He was smoking a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around him, wearing all black that made him look like sin personified.

"Close the door," he said without looking at me. When I entered, he gave me another order that had me questioning my existence.

"Strip down to your underwear." He ordered.

My stomach clenched. "What?"

"You heard me, strip. I want to see you dance. Private performance, just for me."

Right. This was what I'd agreed to. This was why I was here.

I hesitated at first but then began to strip while  trying not to think about what I was doing. When I was down to my boxers, Andreas finally looked at me, his gaze traveling over my body with open appreciation.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "Now dance for me."

He gestured to a small sound system in the corner. I selected a song, slow and sensual and began to move.

It was different dancing for one person instead of a crowd. I could feel every one of his looks like a physical touch, could sense his attention tracking my every movement.

When I came closer to the couch, Andreas gestured for me to turn around, and before I could process what was happening, I was giving him a lap dance. My body moving against his, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric of my underwear, feeling his hands grip my hips.

 God help me, my body responded. I was getting hard, my cock straining against my boxers, betraying me completely.

Andreas noticed. His hands tightened on my hips, pulling me down harder against him, and I could feel his own arousal pressing against my ass.

"Such a responsive little thing," he murmured, his breath hot against my neck. "I wonder how much more you'll give me before you break."

The song ended. I stumbled away, breathing hard, my face burning with shame and arousal and confusion. Thank God, I don't know if I'd be able to endure it for a second longer.

"Sit," Andreas commanded, gesturing to the spot next to him.

I sat, grateful to take weight off my shaking legs.

"Tell me about yourself," he said, stubbing out his cigarette. "What made you come to The Pit?"

"Money." The lie came easily. "What else?"

"Bullshit. You're educated. I can tell by the way you speak, the way you carry yourself. You could have found a dozen other ways to make money. Why stripping? Why here?"

Because your family murdered my father and kidnapped my brother, and I need to get close enough to destroy you.

"Bad breakup," I said instead. "I needed a fresh start somewhere my ex wouldn't find me."

"Hmm." He didn't sound convinced, but he didn't push. "Tell me something true, then. Something real."

"Like what?"

"Anything, your favorite food. Childhood memory. Your biggest fear. Surprise me."

I thought about it. "I'm afraid of being forgotten, of disappearing and having no one remember I existed."

Andreas looked at me then, really looked at me, and something shifted in his expression. "That's not going to happen to you, Raine. You're far too memorable."

Then he grabbed my neck, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to control and pulled me into a kiss.

I froze. Kissing wasn't something I'd prepared for, wasn't something I'd thought about.

His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue pressing past my lips with easy confidence. He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes and something darker I couldn't name.

And against every logical thought in my head, I kissed him back.

My hands came up to his chest—ostensibly to push him away, but instead they fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. His hand in my hair tightened, angling my head for better access, and I made a sound that was embarrassingly close to a moan.

I could feel his hard on pressing against my stomach as he groped me, his tongue exploring every part of my mouth until I moaned shamelessly.

When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Andreas's eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire.

"You're full of surprises," he said, his thumb tracing my swollen bottom lip. “And you're not a bad kisser too.”

"You're not what I expected either," I admitted, and it was true. I'd expected a monster. Instead, I was finding someone dangerously compelling.

He pulled me back in, and this time when we kissed, it was slower and deeper. His hands roamed my body—mapping my chest, my stomach, the V of muscle that disappeared into my boxers. When he cupped me through the fabric, I gasped against his mouth, my hips jerking involuntarily.

"So responsive," he murmured approvingly. "I'm going to enjoy ruining you." 

The sexual tension was unbearable. I wanted to stop, wanted to run, wanted to remember why this was wrong.

But I also wanted him to keep touching me, see where it led and  just for a moment, why I was really here.

Andreas broke the kiss, pulling back with obvious effort. "Not tonight," he said, his voice rough. "I want you to be desperate for me first. I want you to beg."

"I don't beg," I said automatically. “You're going to be the one begging.”

His smile was predatory. "We'll see about that."

He stood, adjusting himself, and I couldn't help but notice the prominent bulge in his pants. "Get dressed. I'll see you tomorrow night. Same time."

"That's it?" I was taken aback. You kiss me like I was the last thing you ever desired then you just dismiss me?

"That's it for now." He walked to the door, then paused. "Oh, and Raine? Don't touch yourself tonight. I want you to save all that energy for me."

Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the sex room with a raging hard-on and a head full of confused thoughts.

I pulled my clothes on with shaking hands, trying to ignore how badly I wanted to disobey his last command.

This was getting complicated. I was supposed to be using Andreas to get information, to get justice. I wasn't supposed to be responding to his touch like my body had been waiting for it.

But I was demisexual—I'd always known that about myself. And somehow, impossibly, I was developing feelings for the man who'd destroyed my family.

"You're so fucked," I told my reflection in one of the ceiling mirrors as I flopped myself on the bed and I couldn't agree more.