Page 1 of The Devil’s Touch (Obsession #1)

S ilvana

My fingers trembled as I swiped my deep red lipstick against my lips.

Hot tears pooled in my eyes, and I tried my best to rein them in.

I wanted to tell myself that I was purging the nervousness out of my system, but deep down, it was because I was so terrified of something going wrong—of getting caught.

“She doesn’t have much time left, ma’am. She needs to get the surgery done.” The doctor’s words echoed in my head, causing a full body shudder to ripple through me.

I didn’t have much time left. I had schemed long and hard enough not to back out now. Tonight, I was going to steal from one of my clients. I didn’t care if it was the devil himself. Hell, I’d walk through fire if I had to, to get the money for my sister’s surgery.

“ Metti insieme la tua merda —get your shit together, Silvana.” I took a deep breath, touching up my makeup and struggling to steady my trembling hands.

My honey blonde hair dropped down my shoulder in waves, curled to perfection and augmenting my bold, flawless makeup—a canvas of contour, blush, foundation, powder, glittery eyeshadow and deep red lipsticks.

Just how the clients liked it. The scandalous lacy black jumpsuit I had on left little to the imagination, cupping the hips and dips of my slim, curvaceous body and my perky breasts.

I wish it didn’t have to come to this, but Marco was too greedy to pay us more than what could buy us cheap makeup products, scandalous outfits, and barely keep a roof over our heads.

We were the ones who got leered at by wealthy greedy bastards crawling around every street of Rome.

We got fondled and groped, and we were asked to be a good girl and suck it all up because that was what kept the money flowing.

Marco sat back and took the largest share like the fucker he was .

.. and our savior, as he never failed to remind us.

This was Karma. The biggest strip club on the streets of Sicily, where the rich got away with anything.

“Get your ass up, Silver. You’ve got a client waiting for you in the VIP Lounge.” The bitchy, whiny voice of Blue came in through the sheer curtains of the dressing room. It reeked of envy. Typical Blue.

I rolled my eyes. “Coming.” I rose to my feet, heading out the door in my ridiculously high heels, but she blocked my path, glaring intently at me.

“Bitch, I know you are fucking Marco. How else could you possibly always get the richest clients?” She cocked her head to the side, her deep blue hair swishing with the movement, her grey eyes slanting on me like laser beams.

“Get out of my way, Rebecca.” I smirked, knowing she hated it whenever she was called by her given name. Her face flushed with fury. I used that to my advantage, pushing past her.

“It’s Blue, you pussy!” she screeched at me from behind.

“Don’t care!” I flipped her off, sashaying out of the room.

The first floor was packed with strippers on the pole, and lustful clients emptying all their pockets on the jiggly asses and luscious cleavage.

Normally, the thumping bass of the song playing in the background would put me in a good mood, but not tonight.

By the time I was on the third floor that housed the VVIP lounge, my mood was completely sour.

The VVIP lounge was rarely occupied, but whenever it was, Marco always said it was occupied by the boss. I really didn’t know who that was. Never really cared.

I was almost chewing my lips to draw blood by the time I got to the entrance, but I took a deep breath, pushing my luscious breasts up to look more enticing.

I ran my fingers through my hair to give it a messier look before advancing to the stone-faced guards at the entrance.

They probably already knew who I was because they let me in instantly. I didn’t even have to say the word.

I let myself into the dim, luxurious suite, slowly shutting the door behind me. The space unfurled before me in tones of black, gold, and red, exuding a pristine yet dangerous air. It was a little difficult for me to make out anything, but I didn’t allow that to deter me.

“Hello,” I murmured, wiping my sweaty palms against my body.

“Over here,” the deep, baritone voice drifted into the room like a cloud of smoke.

It wrapped tightly around my neck like a fucking noose, sending shivers down my spine.

The thick, Italian accent was unmistakable.

My head snapped in the direction I presumed the voice came from, and a gasp fell from my lips when my eyes locked on his.

Cold, harsh blue eyes that reminded me of the Antarctic ice on a dark freezing night.

He was sprawled on the huge, dark leather seat like it was his dark throne.

Chiseled facial features were drawn into a sharp, squared jawline, prominent cheekbones that looked as though they could cut, thick brows, straight nose, and thick, firm, sensual lips that did things to me where I was standing.

His thick, dark, tousled curly hair had some strands that stylishly fell over his forehead.

The white shirt he wore clung to his upper body like a second skin, unbuttoned enough to give me a peek of the hard, flawless golden skin of his chest that glowed under the muted golden lights of the chandelier.

The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up his veiny arms, taunting me with his wristwatch that looked like it’d cost a fortune.

This man exuded dark, dangerous power—the kind that spoke for itself wherever he set foot, the kind that thrilled me and turned me on.

But he wasn’t just any man. I knew him. I had seen him in papers and on TV. Everyone knew him. The devil himself—Domenico Romano, the head of the Sicilian Mafia. My client for tonight, the one I was going to steal from, odds and consequences be damned.

“Are you just going to stand there and fucking gawk at me or get to work and do what you are being paid for?” He spoke like he was choosing his words patiently, each syllable thick with his Italian accent, oozing with an unspoken threat.

“Of course,” I swallowed, willing to ignore the way his ravenous gaze scorched my body. His jaw ticked in frustration.

At first, I contemplated running out of the room and putting a stop to my plans, but the irrational part of me won.

I sucked it up and glided over to the customized pole a few inches from where he sat.

He didn’t flinch and that was what made this unnerving.

I was Silver, one of the most sought after strippers in this club.

I made men feral and ravenous and on edge, not the other way around.

What is this sorcery?

I wasn’t about to let him make a movie out of my nervousness, so I shoved it to the back of my mind.

The slow, intoxicating music came on, and I clung to the pole, losing myself to it.

When it came to other men, knowing they were leering at me and imagining a thousand ways they wanted to tear off my clothes and sink themselves into my skin, it made my skin crawl, but knowing this man, dark, dangerous and predatory, was watching me, made every hair on my skin rise, and liberated me from the inside out.

It was different.

I grinded sensually against the pole, running my fingertips against every mesh-clothed part of my body.

My breath hitched when I felt my hardened nipples.

The friction of my fingers against it sent heat shooting straight to my core.

I didn’t stop dancing, teasing him and running my fingers through my hair.

Every rhythm made me want to submit to him, and that urged me to open my eyes.

My breath caught.

He was taking a sip of his drink, but his eyes didn’t leave mine.

Those cold blue eyes latched onto my body with such intensity, it made me feel like they were scorching the sheer cloth off my body.

The innate urge to please him was so overwhelming that I found myself getting on my knees, crawling towards him.

I crouched when I got to his front, watching his eyes flash with hunger.

It was momentary and I was certain I imagined it.

Satisfaction flared within me. I rose to my feet, leaning towards him, catching his clenched jaw and faint musky scent before biting my lip slowly and circling around him.

There had never been the urge to touch any of my clients, but with him, I craved it.

My black, manicured fingers rose up in the air, aiming to tease his shoulder, but I guess he saw it coming. Rough hands grabbed onto mine, sparks zapping through every inch of my skin. He growled, yanking me to his front. Then, he rose to his feet.

My five foot six inch height never made me feel insecure. I even wore heels all the time. But he towered over me like an overwhelming darkness, the scent of musk hitting me in the right spots as his now darkened blue eyes rested on me.

“Hands off.” His voice, emotionless, curled around me like smoke.

I didn’t know how he was able to move so swiftly.

The next thing I felt was my back hitting the wall, eliciting a gasp from me.

His face hit my neck, and I heard him sniff me in, wrapping his arm around my waist. What was left of my senses seemed to have faded away because as he ran the pad of his thumb over my hip, my skin burned beneath his touch.

“No touching. Those are the rules.” I panted, meeting his burning gaze.

“I don’t care.” He breathed against my face, staring down at my lips and fisting onto my hip like he was trying to restrain himself from doing the wrong thing.

I could feel it in his heavy breathing, his raging hard-on pressed against me. The air between us thickened with a lustful tension, heat coursing through my body with every gaze that landed on it—devoured it even. I bit my lip, not wanting to look away from those blue eyes.