Chapter 4

Delilah wasted no time. She moved slowly, circling Marco as if she were stalking a prey.

The music playing softly in the background set the rhythm, but it was her own confidence that controlled the dance.

Her hips swayed, her body moved fluidly, each motion designed to captivate. She leaned in, letting her hands gently graze his shoulders before pulling back just enough to tease.

Marco watched her every move, mesmerized by the confidence in her technique. She was unlike any dancer he had encountered before—there was no hesitation, no doubt.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

Delilah didn’t need to rush. She took her time, letting the anticipation build, as her fingers traced along his chest and then drifted away, always keeping a careful distance.

Her lap dance was flawless, a combination of smooth, sensual movements and calculated control.

She bent forward, her chest grazing his face as her hands trailed down his arms, then smoothly straddled his lap without missing a beat.

Her body rocked gently against him, her breath steady, and her movements perfectly timed with the pulse of the music.

The air between them crackled with passion.

He leaned back slightly, his eyes following her every motion, his hands itching to touch her, but knowing better than to disrupt the performance.

There was a silent understanding between them—this was her show, and he was merely the spectator.

Delilah let her hips move against him smoothly, her body arching as her hands slid down her own sides, teasing but never giving too much.

Her masked face remained mysterious, but her confidence told Marco everything he needed to know—this woman was sexy.

As the lap dance continued, Delilah’s moves grew bolder, her body pressing closer to his in slow, tantalizing rhythms.

She expertly shifted her weight, leaning in just enough to feel the heat between them but never breaking the boundary she had silently established.

She spun around, her back now against his chest as she moved, arching her spine as her hands ran through her own hair, enhancing the allure of the dance.

Marco’s breath hitched, but he kept his composure, watching as she continued to move with a confidence that commanded the room.

Afterwards, Delilah finished with a final, teasing swirl of her hips before standing up, leaving Marco still in his chair, his gaze following her every step.

Without a word, she gave a small nod, signaling that the dance was over.

She walked to the door, her heart steady, intending to leave the room. But just as her fingers brushed the door handle, she felt a sudden, firm grip on her wrist.

In one swift motion, Marco yanked her backward, pulling her toward him. The force of the movement was strong, almost calculated.

Delilah stumbled slightly, but she quickly regained her balance, her eyes narrowing behind the mask as she was brought face to face with Marco once more.

There was no fear in her—only surprise, mixed with irritation.

No one had ever dared to touch her without her permission.

Marco’s dark eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something intrigued, as his hand reached up slowly.

With a deliberate, almost teasing slowness, his fingers touched the edge of her mask, tracing the delicate material.

His other hand still held her wrist, keeping her close. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her skin.

Delilah’s heart raced, but she remained composed. She had been in worse situations than this.

Still, she felt the heat of the moment, the tension between them intensifying. She met his gaze with a steady glare, daring him to continue.

Then, with a single, fluid motion, Marco slipped the mask from her face.

For the first time that night, Delilah’s identity was exposed. Her face, usually hidden, was now revealed to him.

Her piercing eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips were framed by a cascade of auburn hair that tumbled down her shoulders.

Marco's breath hitched for a moment as he took her in, his grip on her wrist loosening but not letting go.

His expression shifted, as if he hadn’t expected the woman behind the mask to be quite this captivating.

Delilah remained silent, her face now unreadable.

She wasn’t the type to be easily rattled, but she couldn’t deny the ripple of something unfamiliar coursing through her.

Marco leaned closer, his voice low, his lips curving into a smirk. "I don’t know who you are," he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers, "but I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again."

Delilah raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with a hint of a smile—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Without a word, she yanked her wrist free from his hold, stepping back with her usual confidence.

She didn’t need to respond to his comment. She had made it clear that she was not interested in seeing him again.

She turned, walking toward the door again, her heart still steady.

This time, Marco didn’t stop her. He simply watched as she exited the room, the door closing softly behind her. His gaze lingered on the door for a moment, before a dangerous glint flashed across his eyes.

"Gino," Marco called out, his voice cutting through the silence.

The door opened almost immediately, and Gino stepped inside, his imposing frame filling the doorway.

He looked at Marco, waiting for instructions.

"I want to know everything about that dancer." Marco’s tone was sharp, leaving no room for doubt. "Who she’s, where she’s from—everything."

Gino nodded, his expression unreadable. "Understood."

Without another word, Gino turned and exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Marco leaned back in his chair, the smirk on his face growing wider. His hand drifted to his crotch, fingers brushing against the fabric of his pants, where a noticeable bulge had formed. Then, a wave of satisfaction rolled through him.

"She’ll be mine," he muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing with intent. She wasn’t just any ordinary dancer, and he would claim her, body, and soul.