Chapter 1 001

Diane's POV

"$40,000."

The price makes my throat run dry, and goosebumps scatter across my skin. The humming bass of the club fades into nothing in the background.

No way.

There's no way a client would offer such an enormous amount for my services. I know I'm good; hell, I'm the best stripper this private club has to offer. But not once have I been tempted by this. There has to be a catch.

I shuffle on my feet, trying not to look desperate even though I am. I have debts to pay. Rent due. Food to buy... I need the money. "What do I need to do? Just dance for this man for a few hours?"

The other strippers beside me cast jealous glances at me and the manager as they pretend to focus on the finishing touches of their make-up.

The chubby man shrugs, a conflicted expression crossing his face. "Not exactly."

Right. There it is. The catch.

"So... what exactly do I..." That's as far as I get before his voice cuts through.

"You would need to give him a night of his life." His expression is blank, like we're talking about the weather.

I freeze. Literally freeze. The world seems to spin, and I just stand there, my brain short-circuiting for a second. "Excuse me?"

Like, have sex with the client? Why not just hire a call girl or something? But then again, I know the elite of the city want quality, and this club is the only place they can get it.

Brittany, a snobbish blonde with her tits almost falling out of a gown with an incredibly low neckline, chips in, her eyes glinting with desperation. "I'll do it, Mr Rogers." She bats her lashes.

For a second, I can't even bring myself to protest. I just stand there, still reeling from the first words I heard. He will pick her. I know Mr Rogers doesn't like someone who hesitates, and right now, that's exactly what I'm doing.

But then... "I appreciate your comment, Brittany, but you have stage duty today. This is for Diane. The client has asked for the best, and you and I both know who that is."

His words sound far away as my brain tries to piece everything together.

My family, my life... and forty grand lying on the table in front of me. I'm sold.

I tilt my chin up. "I'll do it."

***

My gown rides high on my hips, and my heels click as I push open the door to the private room on the top floor of the building.

Stepping inside the dim room, softly lit by the glow of the red lights overhead, I'm immediately hit with the scent of pine and something woodsy.

"About time..." A deep, rough voice echoes from the corner of the room.

I freeze for a second before I gather myself and shut the door behind me. The angel mask covering my face feels way heavier than it used to.

Did I mention that clients almost always have a request if they want a private show? Yeah. This one wants anonymity. And honestly, I'm fine with that. The last thing I need is him seeing my face and vice versa. It's best to forget this night ever happened.

"I apologize..." My voice is low and sultry as I stalk forward, each step confident and alluring, before I stop in front of him.

He's leaning back in the armchair, his defined jawline sharp under the dim light, his piercing green eyes hidden behind a dark eagle mask that covers half his face.

There's something about him... something dangerous. Something familiar. Something that sets me off.

Snap out of it, Diane. I'm just being paranoid. Nothing more.

He leans back, his gaze sharp as he looks me over. "Midnight angel... that's what they call you here, is that not?" His voice is rough in his throat, and I can feel his gaze piercing so deep, like he wants to see into my soul.

A smile curls my lips, and I straddle him slowly, sitting so carefully that I only brush against his dick ever so lightly. "Do you like watching me?"

He tenses under my touch, and his breathing becomes laboured. "Yes. I come to every single one of your shows. I need you, please..." His words drift off into something more pleading.

Pathetic.

I know how to reduce men to a mumbling mess, but this man is almost too easy.

Pushing that thought aside, I dip my head low, my lips brushing over the nape of his neck. "You smell so good..." I drawl, my tongue darting out to lick a slow stripe along his neck. I'm rewarded with a low grunt as his fingers find my hips, gripping them tightly.

"Fuck," he mutters breathlessly, his hands beginning to move my hips, slowly grinding me on the tenting erection in his pants. "Fuck... yes..."

I'm not even going to lie. That feels good. Way too good. My hips buck, pushing back down on him in an effort to feel more while my panties dampen with evidence of my arousal.

Shit. Maybe this won't be that bad.

"Wait..." I blurt out, easing off his lap before I drop to my knees.

His gaze follows my movements, and his harsh breathing fills the space between us. "You're so pretty. Look at you. On your knees, getting ready to take my dick into your warm mouth." His words drip with lust and desire.

My fingers work fast on his belt buckle, my gaze fixed on him. "Yeah?" I finally unloop it and throw it somewhere with a clang.

Then finally, my hands are wrapped around his throbbing length, already dripping precum.

Fuck. He's big.

He bucks up into my hold, eager for some kind of friction. "C'mon, Princess. Put it in your mouth," he urges.

Just as my lips ghost over the tip of his dick, he leans forward, trying to get a good look at me, and that's when it happens. The mask around his face must have been tied loosely because it suddenly slips off.

"Oh... sorry, I..." I quickly pick it up with my other hand, stretching it back to him with an apologetic tone.

My gaze slides up to meet his grateful face, and I freeze, seeing his bare face for a second before he slips the mask back on.

I know that face. I could never forget that face.

My heart stutters, and my lips part in shock. Conrad Beaumont; son of a billionaire and heir to the family's business.

But most importantly, this is my ex-boss. The one who unjustly fired me years ago, forcing me into this lifestyle.

The man I swore to hate.

And I have his dick in my hand.