Page 42 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

Chapter

Thirty-Two

“You don’t love someone because they’re perfect,you love them in spite of the fact that they’re not.”

― Jodi Picoult

Théo

“Ugh, I love strip clubs so much. There’s something about them that makes me feel scandalously naughty,” Victoria said with a grin as we walked in.

I gave a slow nod to the bouncer, Joseph. Recognized him from when Dawson used to drag me here. Every time he fought with his wife, this was his escape. Claimed it calmed him down. All it ever did was get his dick wet. Fucking coward.

Inside, the place reeked of sweat, perfume, and regret. Lights low enough to hide the desperation. Just enough glow to sell the illusion.

A dozen girls worked the floor in seven-inch heels and barely anything else, but I didn’t spare them a glance. My eyes were locked on the redhead pretending I didn’t exist.

Three days I’d been back in her condo. In her space. Behind her. Opening her doors. Clearing the path as she moved through crowds like a queen. And she still wouldn’t give me a single goddamn glance.

I’d made grown men twice her size drop to their knees, sobbing for their mothers.

But the woman who had my heart?

She preferred to chew it up, spit it out, and grind it beneath those expensive heels without blinking.

She laughed at something her boyfriend said, and my jaw tightened. Fuck. That laugh wasn’t his to earn.

“When I told you I had beef with my cats, Vic, I didn’t think your solution would be taking me to Kitten’s Heaven,” said the fucker, his arm sliding around Scarlett’s waist.

Ice crawled up the back of my neck and settled between my shoulder blades. His hand tightened on the bare skin above her hips. My fingers curled into fists. Nails sliced into my palms, sharp enough to break skin. Scarlett tilted her head back and laughed, and my pulse turned to stone.

Putain de merde.

I’d killed men for fucking less.

She was wearing a short black dress. Tight. Obscene. The kind of thing made to be torn off with teeth. Her legs were bare. Lips glossed. Every inch of her gleaming under the dim light like a fucking temptation.

I watched her hips sway as she leaned into him. Watched her bring a hand to her face, laughing again, louder this time. And that bastard wasn’t even funny. He touched her again. That same fucking spot just above her hip.

That’s fucking it.

If he didn’t take his hand off her soon, I’d break every finger and make her watch.

“Well tonight, let’s forget about your ridiculous mental breakdown and Ma?—”

Scarlett clapped her hands, sharp and sudden. “Okay. Let’s find somewhere to sit. Now .”

Victoria flushed, bit her tongue, and dragged the annoying fucker across the club without another word. They slid into a booth near the back, velvet seats frayed, a single pole turning slowly and empty in the spotlight.

“Interesting choice for a date spot. Kitten’s Heaven?” I let my gaze drag across the club, then back to her. “Didn’t think you were the type to watch your boyfriend get hard over other women in front of you. Always thought you preferred your attention undivided.”

She faltered for a breath, then straightened her spine and rolled her shoulders. She turned slowly, gaze flat. “We both love to watch. It’s our new kink.”

Her voice was sugar poured over a blade. Sweet until it cuts.

“After a year locked up, all I craved was freedom.” She shrugged, casting a glance around the room like she wasn’t suffocating in it. “Guess I went overboard. But what can I say? I’m just a girl, Mister LeRoy.”

I stepped in. Closer. Her breath hitched.

“So, freedom means sitting pretty while your boyfriend drools over someone else’s tits?” I tilted my head, letting the disgust drip out of my mouth. “That’s what turns you on now, Miss Harper?”

She let out a scoff. “Please. As if you’ve never looked.”

“I haven’t.” And it was the fucking truth. “The only woman who has ever crowded my head is you.”

I leaned closer, just enough for her scent to crawl into my bloodstream.

Sweet lavender. Same scent. Same goddamn trigger.

“If I was yours, I’d dig my own eyes out and hand them to you before I ever looked at someone else. I’d do it because you already owned me. You wouldn’t even have to ask. I’d bleed for you without flinching, because my pain means nothing when it’s yours.”

I meant every goddamn word, and I hated myself for it. Hated that after everything she’d lied about, I’d still crawl if she whispered my name.

But I hadn’t needed to do it. Because there hadn’t been a second in four fucking years where she wasn’t the only thing I saw.

She swallowed, and for a blink, she broke. That glass-hard mask cracked just enough. Her lips twitched.

“Well?…” she said quietly, voice catching at the edge. “Good thing you’re not mine, then. Your ophthalmologist would be thrilled.”

I could’ve laughed. Could’ve grabbed her by the throat and kissed her until she stopped pretending. But I just stared.

Not yet.

She’d come back to me. Back to what’s hers.

Even if I had to crawl. Even if I bled. Even if she broke me just to see if I’d stay.

I would. I fucking would. Because she was the only thing I’d ever belonged to. I was never meant to belong to anyone else.

She walked quickly, shoulders stiff, slipping between Victoria and her asshole boyfriend, and sat down without looking at me.

Just then, the sound of heels echoed sharply against the floor. A dancer climbed onto the stage, as music throbbed through the speakers.

I moved behind their booth, at the back of the room, silent. From there, I could scan the space, monitor every entrance, every shift in the crowd. But mostly, it gave me a perfect line of sight.

Right to her.

We’d been stuck in this goddamn circus for two hours.

Most men would be jerking off to the memory of a night like this. Tits everywhere, asses in their face, drinks poured like water, women grinding for tips and fake praise. Idiots slapping backs like they’d earned it.

To them, this was heaven. To me, it was rot.

The stench of sweat and perfume. Drunk hands grabbing at whatever they could afford for ten seconds of attention. Girls faking moans and smiling through dead eyes.

And then her. The prettiest redhead with too much confidence and a body made to make me lose my mind.

She knew exactly how much I fucking hated noise, crowds, and the kind of music that made your teeth grind. And still, she’d dragged me here, knowing exactly what it’d do to me.

She’d gone to the bathroom twice in under fifteen minutes, just to force me through the crush of sweaty men circling like dogs. I moved behind her, close enough to block the heat of any hand that might’ve reached too far.

No one touched her. No one fucking dared.

She stopped at the bar five times. Didn’t need a drink, didn’t even finish half of them.

Just leaned over the counter, dragged her fingers around the rim, lips parted slightly, and made sure I was right there to see it.

Then she’d glide back to the booth, drink in hand, smile sharp enough to slit my throat.

And I followed. Every fucking time. No matter how much I fucking hated this place, at least I was near her.

Now, she was still perched there, sipping her fifth virgin mojito, heel bouncing, eyes heavy lidded.

Strippers kept coming. Red latex. Leather straps. Glitter stuck to skin. Each time, she threw them bills, whistled, clapped, laughed, and climbed on the booth to dance along. Her idiotic boyfriend was drunk, swaying from side to side as a stripper grabbed his face and shoved it between her tits.

Scarlett pulled out her phone and started recording, laughing with Victoria like it was the best thing they’d seen all night.

I stayed where I was, breathing through my teeth.

Then she glanced over. A slow, cold look, like the sight of me made her sick.

Good. Hate kept us honest. At least that meant I still existed in her head.

A hand caressed my arm. “The redhead paid for your lap dance. This way, big man.” The stripper’s voice purred, her voice sweet and high, the kind of tone that had probably convinced a hundred fuckers they were special right before she climbed into their laps and emptied their wallets.

Her nails dragged down my vest. She pressed her tits against my arm and smiled up at me.

I didn’t look at her. My eyes were on Scarlett.

Again.

She sat across the room, drink perched between two fingers, lips parted around the rim in something halfway between mockery and boredom.

Her thighs gleamed under the lights, crossed delicately, her heel bouncing slightly in that impatient little rhythm.

She lifted her glass toward me with a smirk, like she was offering a toast.

Her stupid boyfriend had wandered off with Victoria toward the main stage. Scarlett didn’t even glance after him. Her eyes were on me now.

This wasn’t flirtation. It was fucking war.

“She paid for two hours,” the stripper said, breath hot on my neck. “Not that I’d be checking the clock, sugar. With that jawline? Those eyes? That body? I’d love to ride your cock until the sun came up and my knees gave out.” Her hand slid down my stomach, nails grazing the edge of my belt.

Scarlett raised an eyebrow at me across the club and took another slow sip, lips wrapping around the straw.

“How much?” I asked.

The dancer giggled, grinding her hips lazily against my leg. “Thirty-five thousand, sugar.”

Scarlett tilted her head, watching me like she wanted to see if I would fold. If I would betray what I had just told her, that no one else existed to me.

But she was the one who’d fucking betrayed me. The one who had lied.

She’d told me I was the only one, had said it with that voice that made men drop to their knees. And now some other man had his hands on her.

I’d never looked into him. Never traced his past, never pulled apart his life.

Because I knew the second I found something off, even a whisper of a lie, I would kill him.

I would do it slowly, with blood on my hands and her name in my mouth.

Not out of jealousy. But because he wouldn’t be the man she fucking deserved.

So let her test me. Let her sharpen her teeth on every word I gave her and see if I flinched.

I wouldn’t. I’d bleed just to prove I still fucking belonged to her.

I looked down at the stripper. Long blonde hair, brown eyes, and tits practically spilling out of her top now, eyes heavy with the kind of invitation most men would sell their soul for.

“Lead the way.”