The Billionaire's Masked Obsession

CORINNE

The second that spotlight lit up the stage, everything else faded. I did my usual sweep of the crowd -not out of curiosity, but just to get a read on who I'd have to deal with tonight. Honestly, it was almost always the same scene: a bunch of half-wasted finance guys reeking of expensive cologne and unresolved issues, showing off their designer suits like it made them important. Old money heirs slouched in velvet chairs like royalty, trying to look bored while slipping bills into girls' garters with sweaty fingers. And the frat boys with their backwards caps barely covering the empty space where common sense should be. Loud, red-faced, reeking of-

My thoughts stalled.

My eyes locked on someone who didn't belong.

He wasn't like the rest. He wasn't leaning forward, drooling at the sight of bare skin. He wasn't laughing with his company or reaching for his wallet. He sat still. Detached. Like the whole place was a bad joke and he was just waiting for the punchline.

It was his eyes that got to me the most. They were just... dull. Like the light had been switched off long before now. There was no amusement. No curiosity. Just a quiet, distant stare aimed directly at me.

It shouldn't have affected me. I didn't dance for validation.

But the way he watched me was like he saw straight through the red leather and found nothing of interest stung. And pissed me off.

That irritation flared fast, hot, unwelcome.

I wanted to break that calm.

Wanted to see what it would take to make him move. To make him react. To light something behind those dead eyes.

And I would.

The first beat rolled through the floor and into my spine. Benny's hand settled briefly at my lower back as I stepped forward, the lights shifting into deep golds and reds. Muscle memory took over. This routine was etched into my body-every turn, every brush of skin practiced to perfection.

But tonight felt different as I moved.

The crowd was loud, but none of it mattered. I wasn't performing for the drunkards in tailored suits and too much cologne. My main focus was him...the man who looked like he'd already bought the club just to have somewhere to brood.

Benny spun me around then caught me with his hand resting just above my thigh. I let my leg brush up his side, just enough to spark some heat before slipping back down. My head fell back while he leaned over me, his fingers tracing along my jaw before pulling away. My hands slide up his chest with my fingertips skimming his collar as I pushed myself up and quickly turned around on my heel.

When I leaned forward, he caught me. One arm around my middle, the other skimming my thigh as I dipped into him and twisted free just as fast.

Our bodies twisted and turned like smoke to every beat, every touch and every shift of weight.

As the beat neared its end, he came closer, whispering low beside my ear with that same grin he always wore after a good set. "Damn, baby... have mercy on their poor souls. You're gonna send someone into cardiac arrest."

I laughed under my breath, lips twitching into a smirk as I pushed him away with a teasing flick of my hip.

The cheers hit harder as I took center stage alone, chest rising and falling. When the lights cut, Benny slipped backstage, leaving me surrounded by silence and money.

Bills littered the floor.

I should've felt triumphant.

Instead, I searched the crowd till my eyes found him. He hadn't moved. Still stone-faced. But his eyes were trained on me.

My next act was supposed to be a chair and a pole dance.

Keyword: supposed to.

The music swelled and instead of easing into position, I kicked the damn chair aside with the heel of my boot-hard enough to make it clatter and draw gasps. I stepped out of one boot. Then the other.

I felt Benny's stare from across the room, could practically hear his 'what the hell are you doing' voice, but I didn't stop.  

This was a terrible idea. Every cell in my body screamed it.

The stage was my safe zone. My control. The line no one was allowed to cross. As long as I stayed on it, no one could touch me-club rules, bouncer enforcement, total security. If the guests wanted to grope and feel, they should've damn well stayed in the open club outside.

But he wasn't looking at me like the others. And I couldn't stand it.

So I broke my own rule.

The spotlight chased me as I descended the stage with my bare feet silent against the floor and my chin lifted high.

Gasps and low murmurs rippled across the crowd.

"What the hell is she doing?"

"Is this part of the act?"

"Oh my god..."

I pretended not to notice the stunned silence that followed me like a shadow. Pretended I didn't hear the muttered disbelief, or see the way the rest of his group shifted in their seats when I walked towards them.

If I was going to burn, I'd make damn sure he watched me do it.

I stopped directly in front of him and lowered myself in time with the bass, settling between his knees without touching him. He sat there like a king on a throne with his legs parted, arms draped lazily over the sides of the chair and one hand loosely holding a glass of wine.

And God... up close, he looked even more dangerous. Sculpted in shadows and sharp lines, his face unreadable. Detached. Cold. But captivating in a way that made my pulse betray me.

Something about him tugged at a memory I couldn't quite reach. Familiar, somehow. But now wasn't the time to wonder.

We locked eyes. His were a shade so dark and piercing, I was certain he could see through every move in the game I thought I was playing.

I dropped lower, letting my fingers trace the floor as I crawled closer and began to mouth the lyrics of the song. "You want it bad, don't you? Say it..."

When I slid up into his lap with my thighs pressed to the sides of his and my hands planted on the armrest beside his shoulders, the gasps behind me surged.

I knew this was reckless.

But the second I started moving my hips against him, slow and rolling, like sin in rhythm... I stopped caring.

If he wanted me off, he could easily shove me away.

He didn't.

He didn't move. He didn't touch me, even as I leaned in just a fraction, dragging my lips into a wicked smile as I mouthed along with the next line. "Beg for it... I might just let you..."

Still nothing.

Then his brow lifted slightly like he was silently daring me.

Was that a challenge?

Fine.

I began to move with more passion than I had before, grinding my body down into his lap while still maintaining some space between our bodies. Then I adjusted to run both of my hands over my thighs, upward to my waist, across the curve of my breasts and into my hair as I took out the rubber band and flipped the waves back.

I rolled my hips following the beat of the music as I lip-synced each sinful lyric to him. And at the next beat, I shifted my body around on his lap with a very watery, controlled twerk down toward the ground. His hands stayed on the armrests, but I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat as my movements grew filthier, but never frantic. I was still in control.

And at the swell of the music, I hooked my fingers into my stockings and tore them up the side, splitting a clean line along my thigh.

Then I turned back to him, leaning in so close my lips hovered right by his ear as I whispered the last line, my words barely a breath on his skin. "You'll be mine before the night is over..."

The song faded, but I stayed put. Still straddling him, still catching my breath.

He hadn't touched me.  

Not once.

And yet somehow, I had the strange, spine-tingling feeling that he'd been the one in control the whole time.

His gaze followed me with quiet intensity, like he was committing every detail to memory. When I reached for his glass, he released it easily, never breaking eye contact.

I brought the glass to my lips and took a teasing sip, letting the wine stain my mouth as my eyes stayed locked on his. Then I threw my head back and gulped down the rest of the wine in one smooth swallow.

His stare burned hotter.

When I was done, I licked the last drop off my bottom lip, letting my tongue drag in slow motion then I dragged the back of my hand across my mouth, before I slowly rose from his lap.

I took two steps forward, then turned back and tossed him a smile dripping in satisfaction. "Good job."

There was a shift and tick of his jaw, followed by a sharp gleam of something dangerous and delicious finally flashing in those cold, lifeless eyes.

That was enough for me.

Victory sparked low in my belly as I turned on my heel and made my way off the floor, bare feet brushing against spilled bills and champagne-stained tiles. I was practically vibrating when I reached the hallway.

But the moment I pushed past the velvet curtain and into the quiet, Benny was there.

"What the hell was that, sugar?" he hissed, eyes wide with a mix of concern and disbelief. "Are you outta your damn mind?"

That was the thing.

I wasn't thinking. Not when I danced, not when I went down there, not when I touched him.

Fuck!

The heat that had been burning through me began to cool, replaced with a slow-creeping panic that clawed up my throat.

I blinked, swallowed.

"Oh my God," I whispered, dread curling tight in my chest.

"What the fuck did I just do?"