CHAPTER 5

My stomach flipped so hard I thought it was gonna come out my mouth.

I’d only been in this bitch one damn night—still couldn’t carry a tray without nearly drowning my own boobs in whiskey.

Who the fuck was already calling for a private? I hadn’t even hit the pole yet.

Sophia caught my eye across the room, one brow arched high, smirking like she knew exactly what was up.

“Lucky bitch,” she said low. “You must’ve made a real impression out there.

Somebody saw that ass sway and that hungry look in your eyes and decided they needed a taste tonight.”

Emma grinned wide, wiping a smudge of red lipstick off her teeth with her thumb.

“Probably some loaded dude who clocked your ass swaying in that skirt. Go get that money, girl. Make him empty his wallet and his balls if he’s feeling generous.”

I caught up with Vicky at the VIP hall entrance, my heels clicking like I was ready to take over the whole damn spot.

I frowned deep, confused as hell.

“No dancing? No shots? Nothing at all?”

She arched that perfect brow, eyes raking me up and down like I was still learning how to spell “money” and “bag” in the same sentence.

“He didn’t ask for a show, fresh meat. He asked for champagne. Don’t fuck this up. Room 4 pays more in one single night than you’ll scrape in a whole month slinging drinks on the floor like some thirsty basic bitch.”

I ignored the bitch completely and walked past her without a second glance.

The hallway to the VIP rooms felt darker with thick black velvet curtains lined both sides.

Each door had a small brass number nailed low, quiet little secrets you weren’t supposed to read out loud.

Room 4’s curtain was already half-pulled back, impatient as fuck, like whoever was inside was done waiting and ready to play.

I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath that tasted like smoke, sin, and straight cash, and pushed through.

The booth was bigger than the rest but still felt tight as hell, intimate, the walls so close it felt like they were tryna choke the air outta you.

Low black leather couch curved around a glass table, dark and glossy like it was already wet and waiting for some real sin to go down.

One dude sat up dead at the center, his legs spread wide like he owned every pussy and every dollar in this city.

Arms thrown lazy along the backrest, owning the vibe, owning the space, owning the whole damn atmosphere like gravity answered to him.

He wore a dark suit cut sharp, no tie, his top two buttons popped open flashing a tease of hard chest and that shadow of ink or scars… whatever it was, it screamed trouble.

His face was half-shadowed in that dim purple light, but I clocked the important shit.

sharp jaw that could slice you open, rough stubble begging to burn skin, and eyes that snatched the glow and held it hostage like they were deciding whether to fuck you senseless or ruin you slow.

He didn’t say a damn word when I stepped in.

He just watched, looking too damn fine with those cute eyes like trouble wrapped in a suit.

Eyes heavy and slow, stripping me bare, peeling the dress off in his mind without even blinking once.

I set the tray down careful, bottles barely whispering on the glass.

“Dom Pérignon, like you asked.”

But still nothing.

Dead-ass silence.

I stood there frozen for half a second, arms crossed hard over my boobs to hide how my nipples were already rock-hard, stabbing through the fabric like they were ready to fight or fuck.

“Sit,” he said.

Voice low. Rough.

Not loud.

Not asking.

Just one word that landed heavy in my gut like a strong hand pressing down, making my pussy clench once, sharp and sudden.

My heart slammed between my legs.

I dropped down on the leather right next to him, close enough to smell his cologne mixed with smoke, whiskey, and pure, dark money.

The couch sank under my ass.

His arm stayed stretched behind my shoulders, fingers close to my neck but not touching… yet.

He leaned forward slow, poured two glasses without breaking eye contact.

Pushed one toward me.

“Drink,” he said in that same rough tone.

“And tell me why a girl who looks like she wants to burn the whole city down is standing here serving champagne in a dress that barely covers her pussy.”

My mouth went dry as hell.

But I grabbed the glass anyway.

Took a slow sip.

And stared right back into those eyes.

Because fuck it.

If he wanted to play, I was ready to learn every rule.

Then break them all to get what I came for.

I squeezed my thighs shut so motherfucking tight like that was gonna hide how drenched and dripping my pussy already was under this skimpy lil’ dress.

Tried to play it cute and unbothered, but these claws kept fucking with the hem of my skirt, twisting and rolling it slow like I’m straight-up baiting every nigga in the room.

“You new,” he growled, voice all low, husky, and nasty like he was already fucking me with just that one word.

“Obviously, daddy. This is my first night here, and I’m still stuck playing cocktail waitress Barbie. Haven’t even graced that pole with these hips yet and trust me, when I do, the whole room’s gonna need a cigarette after.”

He hit me with one slow, cocky-ass nod.

Real calculated.

Like he just stamped my fine ass in his mental “I’ma ruin her later” folder and smirked like he already won.

“Why this place?” he asked, voice low like he already knew the tea.

I let out a short, dry-ass laugh, eyes staying cold.

“Cause I need money quick as fuck, nigga and fast cash at that. Ain’t nobody else hiring a bitch with ‘attempted murder’ on her record.”

He didn’t even flinch. Didn’t ask what happened.

Just kept staring at me with those dark eyes that’s cutting straight through my bullshit, seeing the revenge still burning inside.

Then he grabbed the whiskey bottle again, poured two big shots, no ice, no bullshit.

Pushed one glass over to me across the table.

“Drink.”

I picked it up with no hesitation.

I took one slow sip.

That burn slammed down my throat like a freight train—hit my chest, rolled straight into my stomach, then dropped lower, making the throb between my thighs pulse even harder, wetter, needier.

I set the glass down with a soft clink. Locked eyes with him again, chin up, no backing down.

“You gonna keep eye-fucking me all night or you gonna spit out what you really want, nigga?”

He eased back deep into the couch, one long arm slung lazy along the backrest, thick fingers drumming slow like he owned every second of this moment.

A small, filthy, dangerous-ass smile curled the corner of his mouth, like he just decided I was dessert and he was already saving room.

“I want to know how much fire you still got left after ten years locked in a cage.”

My pulse slammed hard against my ribs more like a warning shot.

He knew.

This nigga somehow fucking knew.

I leaned forward slow, elbows planted on my knees, letting that dress hike up my thighs just enough to make it a problem.

“Still got plenty fire left, daddy. Enough to torch this whole damn club to ashes if somebody push me.”

I locked eyes with him, chin tilted, voice dropping low and lethal.

“The real question should be…what’s it gonna cost a bitch to show you just how hot this flame still burns?”

He took a slow sip of his whiskey. Eyes never once left my face.

Then they dragged lower, deliberate sliding over my boobs, down to my waist, lingering hard on my thighs like he was already picturing them wrapped around him.

“You ain’t shaking,” he said, voice rough and low.

I met his stare dead-on.

“I’ve had way worse nights than sitting here and getting eye-fucked by you, daddy.”

A tiny, wicked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“I bet your fine ass has.”

Silence dropped heavily between us. Thick enough to choke on.

The bass from the main floor leaked in slow, nasty, thumping like a heartbeat that matched the pulse still pounding between my legs.

“Dance for me,” he said, voice hitting low and thick like he already owned the next three minutes of my life.

My heart did a quick flip. “Right here? Just you and me, no cap?”

“Private as fuck, baby girl. No thirsty crowd. No nosy motherfuckers trying to steal glances.

Just you working that pole like it’s my dick sliding your wet slit along it, smearing your slick on the metal, and your boobs spilling out, nipples hard enough to cut glass…while I sit here stroking my cock through my pants, thick and leaking, watching you turn into my own personal p**n star.

Every time your spine arches like you’re begging to be fucked from behind.

Every slow grind that makes that tight little dress ride up higher, clinging to your ass like it’s painted on, outlining that fat pussy print and the way your thong disappears between those cheeks.

Every filthy sway, every bounce, every time you drop low and spread those thighs just enough to let me see how soaked you really are… I’m eating up every second of it.”

I slid my gaze over to the pole, it stood tall and gleaming, begging to be owned then dragged it back to him real slow, letting my eyes fuck him right back. Lips curved just enough to tease.

“What’s the price tag on this show, daddy? What are you paying to see this fire up close?”