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Asher Nightshade never did anything halfway. The moment Violet stepped through the doors of the club, she was swallowed whole by heat, pounding bass, and raw, unapologetic decadence that clung to the air like perfume.

District One had a reputation for places like this. Still, even in a city like Aster, where humans and werewolves coexisted in tense harmony, it stunned her. Then again, desire didn’t discriminate, and judging by what she was seeing, neither did indulgence.

Asher tightened his grip on her as women in lacy underthings sauntered past them with trays of champagne, their stilettos clacking against polished marble floors.

Violet looked around, a pair of twin brunettes spinning seductively around a chrome pole, their hair fanning like silk in the spotlight.

Nearby, a man sat lazily in a velvet chair, raining bills over a curvy redhead who laughed as she bent forward, tongue dragging over her lip as she rubbed him through his pants.

Nearly every room they passed by echoed with the unmistaken sounds of moans, gasps, or outright screams and sometimes all three at once.

One door hung slightly ajar, and through it, Violet caught a fleeting but unmistakable glimpse of a werewolf in full shift, rutting into a girl from behind. She was taking him, screaming, wild and unashamed.

Violet didn’t pause, nor flinch. She just kept walking like it was none of her business.

Because it wasn’t.

Everyone had their kinks and this was a place of sin. Where good girls came to forget their background, and the twisted ones came to make fantasies real. Here, saints turned sinners and sinners became gods.

Asher cast her a half amused, half impressed glance, as if he hadn’t expected her to take it all so easily. But then, with a mother like Nancy, what exactly had he expected?

Violet had grown up in the shadows of debauchery, and had brushed shoulders with desire more times than she could count. The real wonder was how she’d managed not to fall into them.

Thankfully, they were escorted to a private room by a woman who left little to the imagination. She wore a laced thong, heels that could kill, and a tiny bra that barely covered anything. Her fingers brushed Asher’s chest as she handed him the key.

"Have fun," she purred, eyes dancing with heat. Then, with a wink at Violet, she turned and sashayed away, her hips swaying.

Asher and Violet looked at each other but said nothing. Then he turned the key with a click, pulling her in with a tug to the waist.

The room was dim, bathed in sultry crimson lighting that shone against the black velvet walls.

Gold chains hung from the ceiling like vines, swaying slightly from the bass of the slow, seductive beat pulsing through the hidden speakers in the room.

A singular leather chair was perfectly positioned in the center like a throne, awaiting its king.

"This is nice." Violet was honestly impressed, looking around.

However, Asher pulled her close and smooched her on the lips. "The room over there’s for you to change. I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me."

Violet smirked. "Oh, you’re going to love it."

Then she walked away with that swing in her hips that made Asher’s jaw clench. She hadn’t even begun yet, and Asher could tell he was about to enter a world of suffering.

Taking off his shirt, Asher sank into the leather chair with his legs spread, arms draped on either side, eyes darkened with anticipation. He had reserved this room to watch her his queen dance and he couldn’t wait to get started.

The door creaked open behind him, and then he saw her. Violet stepped into the room, and for a heartbeat, Asher forgot how to breathe.

Her heels were obsidian stilettos that resounded with power against the marble floor as she approached.

Violet wore his button-down shirt that was open just enough for him to glimpse the tease of lace underneath.

Thin wine-red straps clung to her hips, connecting to sheer stockings that made his mouth dry. And in her hand, she held a tie.

A choker hugged her throat and her lips were glossed, parted slightly. Her purple hair was tousled into an artful mess, one strand hanging over her eye, making her look like sin wrapped in temptation.

Asher’s throat bobbed. He was hard already.

Violet circled him like a panther, eyes hooded with a dark promise. Her fingers grazed the back of his neck as she came behind the chair, slipping the tie around it. Then she tugged just enough to tilt his head back.

Her voice was silk on his skin. "As promised."

Asher cursed under his breath. That was sexy as hell.

As if on cue, the music changed into a low, slow, thick with bass and Violet let herself melt into it.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she swayed, her hips rolling to the rhythm. She moved like liquid temptation, going down to her knees, arching, touching herself. Her hands caressed her own thighs, her neck, and then her belly. With one slow motion, she parted her legs just for him.

A guttural growl rumbled from Asher’s chest, fists clenched on the leather. Violet intended to drive him crazy.

Violet looked straight at him and began to unbutton the rest of the shirt seductively, revealing the sheer, boned corset beneath that shaped her body. She tossed the shirt aside and leaned back, her chest pushed forward, her breasts practically begging to fall out.

Asher’s gaze was hungry and he roamed over her body like worship.

She moved over to him this time.

Straddling one thigh, Violet began to grind against it in time with the beat. Her hips rolled in mesmerizing circles, drawing a helpless growl from Asher’s throat. Her hands trailed up her own body, skimming her waist, her ribs, cupping her own breasts with a low moan as she locked eyes with him.

Violet rocked forward, her thighs caging him in, pressing her body against his, and her breath tickling his jaw, her heat burning through the fabric between them.

Asher nearly snapped. "Violet—"

"Shh, you’re not allowed to touch," she whispered against his mouth, her lips not quite brushing his while her hands pinned his arms against the chair.

Then, teasingly, she ground again.

Asher groaned, his muscles strained while a vein ticked at his temple. Violet purple would be the death of him.

Violet leaned back, the curve of her ass brushing his already hard length, every sway of her hips a calculated strike.

She dipped, twirled, arched her back and flipped her hair, making sure he saw everything.

And when her knees straddled his thighs again, this time sitting on his lap properly, Violet rocked her hips into his in small, torturous circles. Her breasts brushed his chest while her breath painted his cheek, the friction maddening.

Asher’s jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling like he was one second from losing control.

"You’re killing me," he rasped.

"I know." Her smile was pure wickedness.

Then she kissed him, hot, wet, and dirty.

And just like that, Asher lost every shred of control.

He gripped her hips, lifting and slamming her down against him, growling her name between kisses. Violet moaned, gasping into his mouth as she ground against the bulge in his pants, feeling just how wrecked he was by a single dance.

"I want to fuck you right here," Asher growled into her throat.

"Who said I was stopping you?" Violet panted, eyes wild.

And that was when the lap dance ended, but the real dance began.