CHAPTER 6

“I’ll give you five grand. Cold cash, straight in your hand. One song, that’s it. You give me a show worth my money, when the lights come back on, you bounce the same way you came in. No touching, no grabbing, no extra shit. Just business and mad heat.”

Five thousand dollars for one song.

My mind lit up like fireworks. That pitiful bank account laughing at zero, revenge still simmering hot and vicious in my veins, Evan’s smug, punchable face smirking from every screen like he still owns pieces of me.

I stood up slowly, thighs shaking, slick sliding down between them. Shoulders back, chest out, chin high, hips rolling like the whole damn room was mine to fuck.

Run that fucking music, boo,” I purred, velvet voice wrapped in steel, sliding into full savage queen mode, and ready to make him regret even thinking he could handle the fire I’ve been holding for ten years locked up.

He pulled out his phone, tapped once. Boom, nasty bass flooded the room, slow and filthy, the kind of beat made for fucking on the down-low. Dark. Wet. Sinful.

I strutted to that pole like it owed me money. Wrapped my manicured fingers tight around the cold chrome, squeezed just to feel it bite back.

I took one deep breath, my boobs rising, nipples already hard against the thin fabric.

Then I started moving.

Slow at first. Hips snaking, rolling deep like I was riding dick in slow motion. Back arched so hard my spine curved like a question mark nobody better answer wrong.

I let the beat fuck me into it. Spun once as my hair lash wild, ass bouncing with the whip. Dropped low, knees wide, booty popping out, thighs splitting just enough to flash how soaked my pussy lips were already clinging to that thong.

I climbed that pole like I owned it, my legs wrapping high, thighs clamping hard, then I slid down in a slow, nasty spiral, pussy grinding the metal the whole way, leaving a slick trail nobody but him would ever know about.

His breathing turned heavy, his chest rose like he was fighting not to groan. Jaw clenched tight, vein popping in his neck.

I turned my back to him, bending over slowly with my ass high, back arched, legs spread wide like I was daring him to even look.

My skirt rode up, barely covering a damn thing. My thong stretched tight between my dripping lips, clit swollen and teasing the air.

I glanced over my shoulder, eyes locked on his, lips parted just enough, tongue flicking slow across the bottom one, letting him see exactly what he wasn’t allowed to touch… yet.

His hand slammed down on his thigh, fingers digging in like he was two seconds from ripping his zipper open and jerking that thick dick right there, while I kept twerking every damn cent outta him.

I got dirtier. Dropped to my knees like the floor was mine. Crawled toward him slowly as my boobs bounced in this thin-ass top, nipples poking through, begging for a look. Ass swaying with every move, thighs slick and rubbing together.

I popped back up smoothly. I turned my back to him. Bent deep—ass popped high, back arched nasty, rolling slow circles like I was riding invisible dick right in front of his face.

The song kept building, bass hitting harder. I hooked one thick thigh around that pole, spun lazy and filthy, my top slip off one shoulder on purpose, letting more skin spill out, cleavage heaving, the edge of my areola teasing the air.

When the beat finally dropped. Boom, I slammed my back against the pole, slid down real slow, legs splitting wide open. Hand slid between my thighs, palm pressing firm over my soaked thong and rubbing slow circles right over my swollen clit through the fabric.

Pussy lips fat and clinging, wet enough you could see the dark spot spreading. I moaned softly, just loud enough for him to catch it.

“Fuck,” he growled low under his breath, voice cracked like he was losing the battle.

The song faded out. The lights stayed dim.

He let out a long, ragged exhale like he’d been holding his damn breath the whole three minutes, his dick probably throbbing painful against his zipper, tryna stay cool while I just wrecked him without even touching him.

I snatched the envelope off the table again, a thick stack feeling heavy in my palm. “That’s five grand, right?”

He gave one slow nod, eyes never leaving mine.

I slid it right down into my bra—nestled deep between my boobs, the crisp edges pressing against my skin, right where my heart was still hammering like it wanted to jump out and claim the money itself.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” I said, voice low, teasing just a lil’.

“You didn’t ask.”

“I’m asking now, daddy.”

A faint, dangerous smile ghosted across his lips, barely there, but enough to make my pussy clench one more time.

“Ryan.”

He stood up slowly, towering over me taller than I clocked before—broad shoulders blocking out what little light was left in the room, casting me in his shadow like he already owned every inch of space I was breathing in.

He reached out but not grabbing, not touching…just let his fingers brush one stray curl off my cheek.

His thumb hovered real close to my jaw, so near I could feel the heat coming off his skin, but he didn’t cross that line. Not yet.

“You dance like a bitch who got something heavy to prove,” he murmured, voice quiet but thick, sinking straight into my bones.

I swallowed hard. “Maybe I fucking do.”

He studied me one long, heavy second longer—eyes raking slowly over my face, my lips, down to where my chest still heaved from the dance. Like he was branding every damn detail into his memory.

Then he turned toward the curtain, broad shoulders cutting through the dim light.

“Goodnight, Emily.”

My whole body locked up.

He knew my name.

Of course this slick motherfucker knew my name.

The thick velvet curtain dropped shut behind him with a soft, final hush, swallowing him whole and leaving nothing but the echo of his voice and the scent of his cologne hanging in the air.

I stood frozen right there—thighs still quivering like they hadn’t gotten the memo the show was over, pussy still slick and pulsing from the heat I’d worked up, the fat envelope of cash wedged deep between my boobs burning like a brand against my skin.

Five thousand dollars heavier.

Five grand richer than when I walked through that door, broke, desperate, and ready to burn the world down for a paycheck.

I let out a slow, shaky breath, fingers brushing the edge of the stack through my bra.

A small, dangerous smile curled my lips in the dark.

Ryan, huh?

You just paid for the preview, daddy.

Wait until you see what the full show costs.

Vicky was posted up outside the VIP hallway when I stepped out, cheeks flushed, lips parted, still tasting the whiskey and the adrenaline.

She clocked me in one second and smirked like she already knew every nasty detail.

“Room 4 treat you nice, fresh meat?”

“He paid for a dance. That’s it,” I said, voice husky, chin up.

“Honey, that man only drops cash for dances from bitches who look like they’ll eat him alive. If he wants more, he knows exactly who to call for the full menu.”

I stepped closer, eyes locked on hers, not backing down an inch.

“Who the fuck is he?”

Vicky’s gaze flicked toward the exit where Ryan's room was, then back to me like I was a puppy that just learned to bark.

“None of your business, new pussy.”

I laughed short, sharp, zero fucks.

“I only asked a harmless question, bitch. But since you wanna play gatekeeper, let me make it clear: I ain’t here to be cute and quiet. I’m here to stack paper and bury a motherfucker. So if Ryan’s got deep pockets and a hard dick that likes to watch, I need to know how deep those pockets really go.”

Vicky’s smirk faded just a fraction. She looked me up and down again but slower this time, like she was reassessing the threat level.