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Things were looking up even more when I saw the new girl dancing in one of the entertainment boxes we had set up for our most exclusive rooms. There’s nothing better than men with too much money distracted by a pretty girl while they’re trying to make decisions.
Her back was to me as her hips swayed in rhythm to the music. There was something hypnotising about her body, about the way she moved. I watched her for at least twentyminutes that first night, imagining all the ways her skin would feel on mine, how her pert ass would fill my hands as I squeezed it. And when she arched her back, all I could think about was how I would wrap her hair in my hand as I pounded into her from behind. I had to snap myself out of it, reminding myself I wasn’t a teenager seeing porn for the first time, but a grown ass man. The spell she had me under was just that—a spell, over as soon as it started. Or at least that’s what I told myself when I finally tore my gaze away from her body and went back to my office where I decided it was a one-time thing, no need to ever go back.
But like heroin calls to a junkie, she called to me each night. And no matter how many times I told myself I wouldn’t do it, I found myself walking down the corridor to watch her perform, hypnotised by her body. After that first time, I never stayed longer than one song, proving to myself that I’m still in control, despite the feral urge to run to the poker room facing her and stab every single motherfucker watching her with awe for being able to see her face before I ever did.
Since I need to feel in control, I turned it into a game. That way, I was the master. I held the power. I was able to look forward to these stolen moments she occupied every night.
I currently sit in my office listening to the clock and watching the hands move as minutes tick by. When the time comes, I stand up and go to my door, never rushing, always making a point to take slow and measured steps. I walk to the exact same spot I stood in the first time I saw her. Nothing but a short stop while I’m clearing my head, stretching my legs after a long day.
She is never the main attraction, just a distraction that lasts a song before I move on like she doesn’t even exist.
Every fucking night for the past week.
Control.
Control is the only thing that’s kept my beast in check. And I am not about to lose it for a pert piece of ass. Even if I’ve wondered more than once if her tits are equally as pert.
And as once again I find myself walking through the corridor to the glass wall where I’ll allow myself to watch her for the duration of that one song, I’ll tell myself she’s just a faceless distraction. I’ll tell myself this will be the last time, even if that means I’ll never find out about those tits.
Just in time, the now familiar notes start again. It’s the same song I’ve asked them to play at the same time each night this week. My measure of time. As soon as it ends, I’ll be gone, my dick hard and my thoughts on her smooth body.
With my hands by my side, I stand, watching her back. But something is different tonight, because, unlike every other night, she starts turning around. My adrenaline spikes as I realise in a few seconds I’ll be able to see exactly what she looks like, and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to take my time with it.
Control.
I drop my gaze to her bare feet before she turns fully, her toes painted in a dark colour I wouldn’t be able to name in the dim light, and slowly drag my gaze up. Up her long legs, her thighs obscured by the golden beads every dancer in my casino is required to wear. Over her hips, stopping on her belly button, pierced with a little stud that glints, reflecting the light each time she moves. Except she stopped moving. Her body is still, her fists clenched by her side, as she lets me drink her in. And when I get to her tits, I’m not sure if I should thank her for standing still or if I should order her to start jumping just so I can see them bounce. Reluctantly, I keep moving my eyes up, stopping on the choker placed on her slender neck. Fuck, that’s hot.It’s like a collar I could use while I fuck her, making sure she knows who’s in charge, who’s in control. Then it’s her lips. Even from this distance, I can see they’re slightly parted, and glistening. My dick is getting harder by the second.
Until I get to her eyes. It’s too dark to tell their colour, but I know they’re fucking emerald green. My head is trying to process the bombshell in front of me that has had me so enthralled the past week and put her in the same category as the smart-mouthed pain in the ass I thought I got rid of.
Then it hits me. What the fuck is she doing in my casino, dancing in the entertainment box, her body barely covered by the skimpy outfit, for everyone to see? Come to think of it, who the fuck thought those outfits were a good idea in the first place? Rage fills me as I stare her straight in the eyes. My jaw ticks while, in my head, I imagine all the ways I could punish her for this. But first, I need to find who stepped out of line and hired the person I made sure every business in Blackwood knew to stay away from.
Her hands wrap around the golden bars, her body shaking as her huge eyes watch me. Good girl. Sheshouldbe afraid.
Very fucking afraid.
I turn on my heel and walk down the corridor and down the stairs to where the person responsible for hiring her should be. I’m angry at myself for staring at Alessa’s ass all week and thinking she was far away from here, safe, when she’s been playing me all along. And inmyfucking casino.
My control is slipping as I storm through the main floor. The struggle not to rip the door from its hinges as I enter Martina’s office is overwhelming.
“New girl. The one dancing in cage three,” I seethe.
Martina is no stranger to my moods, so instead of cowering like most men in my employment would, shesmiles excitedly, knowing I would never hurt a woman unless she’s begging me for it.
And theydobeg me for it.
“Oh! Stevie.” She beams. “Isn’t she fantastic? We’ve had clients request the room directly opposite her box all week.”
The knowledge men are lining up to ogle her body has my blood boiling. Stupid girl. She could have been recognised by someone who knew her mother. I want to scream at Martina for disobeying my orders when it clicks.
I blink.
“Who the fuck is Stevie?”
“The new girl in box three.” Martina squints at me like I’ve lost my mind and honestly, I think I have, or I’ve lost my hearing because I swear I’ve just heard her call Alessa—Stevie. “Stephanie Nicks. But she goes by Stevie.”
I rub my temple, a headache starting behind my eyes as rage turns to disbelief. For all the years Martina has worked for me, I’ve always been impressed with her work ethic and dedication. But it’s fucking clear as day now—she’s on drugs. Because there’s just no way that Alessa convinced everyone she’s called Stevie Nicks unless they were high. Martina reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small folder, where I find an application form and a photocopy of an ID with Alessa’s picture on it and Stephanie Nicks written under it. The address—Seventeen Edge Way, Phoenix, Arizona. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Am I the only one who can see the obvious? Would they get it if she put her middle name as Rhiannon? I drop the folder on Martina’s desk and head back into the casino, my eye twitching. I need to control my anger before I smash something valuable. But first I’m going to have to take care ofeverythingmyself. Just like fucking always. Can’t anyone around me do their fucking job properly?
I know it’s my fault when I walk into a man standing inmy path, looking up at the cage Alessa is dancing in. My vision blurs as the edges turn blood red.
