His Hockey Star by Day, His Forbidden Omega by Night.

Jules~

Everyone who walks into this club knows the rules. One room. One hour. And the most important of them all; no rules. On the surface, it’s the bait to lure in our prey. But beneath that, anyone who’s standing on the stage and writhing to the music will tell you it’s a fat lie. Rules exist. A fuck ton of them.

But the men currently watching me take off my clothing, lust shining in their eyes, the air thick with the scent of their combined pheromones, these men don’t know shit.

I let myself move to the music. When I'm on the rink, my body is all precision and control. But here? Where I'm Rome, the prettiest stripper boy alive, nothing exists. No worries, no stress, no bills.

Sweat beads on my skin, rolling down the side of my face. My body burns hot, a side effect of breathing in so many heady alpha pheromones. That's right, most of the men who come here are alphas seeking to unwind from all their many responsibilities.

The music ends and I come to a halt, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my cheeks glowing as I smile. Only here can I form a real smile.

The men go crazy. They cheer, and throw dollar bills into the air. I can’t see their faces with how much the lights are flashing in my eyes, but I bow and blow a kiss.

“Thank you so much!”

I need to get out of here before I bust a nut on this stage and embarrass myself. But judging from the amount of money i got tonight, food is sure for this month at least.

As I leave the stage and head to the washrooms, I spot Mason up ahead. He’s the manager, and he takes his work extremely seriously, going as far as coming to work in a suit and tie with those nerdy glasses. I’ve tried to talk him out of it, i mean, we work at a sex club, not the fucking bank. And the next day he just shows up in another brand new shirt.

Today, he’s wearing a light blue shirt and charcoal tie. I roll my eyes as he walks up to me.

“You’ve got a VIP. Room seven.” Mason says.

My brows lift in surprise.

“What? That’s all you have to say to me? You’re not gonna critique my dancing?”

His dark eyes narrow behind his glasses. He sighs and pushes them up the bridge of his nose.

“Room seven. Don’t you dare be late. This guy, he’s not just a VIP. and watch your mouth when you’re in there.”

I roll my eyes and clasps my hands together in a mock plea.

“Yes, dad, I'll be on my best behaviour.”

Mason flashes me a disgusted look, mutters something under his breath and walks away.

Once he’s gone, the smile on my face vanishes. A VIP client this early can easily mean one grand for me tonight. Fuck. With that money, I can have groceries for three months.

I head to the washrooms, run a quick shower, and go over my appearance. Since Mason didn’t give me a detail of my VIP, I opt for a simple silk shirt and black pants. My previous VIP clients have praised the shirt, according to them it makes me look slutty.

Whatever gets the bills paid I guess.

I’m done with dressing when my phone inside the locker buzzes. I take it out, even though I have an inkling who’s calling.

It’s either the loan sharks, Coach, or Matteo.

Ah, would you look at that. All three of them have left missed calls. I must be popular these days.

I breeze through Coach’s angry messages about me missing practice, I ignore the loan sharks, but Matteo’s message is the one that makes me pause.

“Where the fuck are you, babe?”

I turn my phone off and shove it to the back of my locker. I’ll deal with him when I come home. Or maybe he’ll deal with me first. Whichever comes before the next.

“Time to get that bag.”

I slap on a candy sweet smile, pinch my cheeks till they turn red then I leave to meet my VIP.

Room seven is all dark wood, leather and blood red tones. The lighting is super low, and there’s music in the air. Something slow and sensual, coiling with the thick tobacco smoke lingering.

I walk in and carefully shut the door behind me. Room seven is the largest and the best of all VIP rooms, and the man seated on the couch fits just like a glove.

I have to bite my lip hard to prevent my jaw from scraping on the ground.

Oh my fucking hell.

The man lounged on the couch with the relaxed ease of someone who could buy this entire place ten times over. One arm stretched lazily over the back of the couch, the other held a lit cigar between two thick fingers.

He looked like danger came to life. The smoke swirling from the amber tip of his cigar couldn’t hide his piercing dark eyes. He had even darker hair pushed back from a sharp, cruelly handsome face. Tattoos covered his throat and the exposed expanse of his arms. He was wearing in all black, a black shirt with the first three buttons undone, sleeves rolled to his muscular and veiny, tattooed forearms.

And my mouth goes painfully dry as I take him all in.

It wasn’t just his appearance. The aura around him is suffocating. Thick. Even his pheromones are controlled. I instinctively know that if he let it out, even a sliver, I would pass out or go into a rut.

I swallow and clear my throat.

“H-hi.”

Fuck! Jules, pull yourself together!

“Um…my name is Rome. What shall I get you started with tonight Mr…”

He watches me, his eyes lit with wicked amusement, glinting like the butt of his cigar.

“Chatty.” He says.

Oh, fuck me. That voice…

My knees tremble and I remind myself that I had to be mindful of my pheromones.

“You smell like a bitch in heat, pretty boy.” He chuckles, his voice a low gravely growl as he pulls the cigar away from his lips and squashes it in the ashtray beside the couch.

My tongue darts out, swiping over my lips as I scream at my brain to just fucking function.

“You think?” Is all I end up blurting out.

Turns out pinching my cheeks before coming here was a waste of time because right now my entire body was burning bright red. Normally with VIP clients I have to force myself into the mood but this man just wrings the mood out of me.

The man leans forward, and I take a step back. Something flashes in his eyes.

“You’re shaking,” he says, his eyes flashing amber. For a second, his pheromones leak out and I bite back a moan.

“What? Gonna tuck your tail between your pretty little legs and run? Get out if you’re going to waste my time.”