His Dangerous Obsession

A Dance with the Devil

(Lisa’s POV)

The lights were blinding.

My pulse hammered in my throat as I stepped onto the stage, heels clicking against polished wood, every pair of eyes in the club turning toward me.

I wanted to vanish. To run back to my daughter’s hospital bedside and never look back. But the debt, the bills, the reality pressing down on me they didn’t care about my shame. They demanded payment.

So I lifted my chin, fingers trembling as I curled them around the cold metal of the pole.

The music throbbed through my body, heavy, dark, sensual. I swayed, every movement slow and hesitant at first, but as the crowd cheered, the rhythm sank into me. My hips rolled, my hands slid along my own thighs, my body betraying the fear in my chest by moving the way the manager had told me to like s*x itself was pouring off my skin.

Whistles. Cash flying onto the stage. Hungry eyes raking over me.

But one gaze pinned me harder than all the rest.

Dominic Moretti.

He was sitting in the shadows at the back of the club, glass of whiskey in his hand, staring at me like he was already stripping me down to nothing. That stare burned hotter than the stage lights. It made my knees weak and my stomach clench in a way I didn’t want to acknowledge.

And when his lips curved in the faintest smirk, I knew this wasn’t just another performance.

This was him claiming me with his eyes.

(Dominic’s POV)

She didn’t belong here.

That much was obvious from the moment she stepped onto my stage. Too stiff. Too innocent. Too raw.

But f**k, she was captivating.

The way her shaky hands slid down her thighs, the way her body curved against the pole like she was made for sin even if she had no idea how much she was tempting it. The crowd ate it up, cheering, throwing bills like confetti.

But I wasn’t watching like them.

No, I was studying every flicker of fear in her eyes, every hesitant sway of her hips. And underneath it all… that stubborn fire that hadn’t burned out. That was what hooked me.

I leaned back in my seat, sipping my whiskey, letting the burn roll over my tongue as I imagined how her soft skin would feel under my hands.

And just like that, I knew.

I wasn’t going to share her with this crowd.

I crooked a finger at the manager. He scrambled to my side instantly.

“Send her to the private room. Now.” My voice left no room for argument.

The man nodded, half-nervous, half-relieved. He knew better than to question me.

(Lisa's pov)

My chest was still heaving when I stumbled off stage, heart thundering from the crowd’s applause and the humiliating shower of bills. My legs shook, but before I could catch my breath, the manager grabbed my arm.

“Private dance,” he muttered, shoving me toward the back corridor. “For him.”

Him.

I didn’t have to ask who. My stomach flipped violently.

Dominic Moretti. The man who ran this place. The man whose eyes had burned into me until I couldn’t breathe.

The door to the private room loomed like a trap, and when I stepped inside, he was already there lounging in the leather chair, his jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, a predator waiting.

The lights were dim in the private room, shadows swallowing the corners, leaving me alone with him the devil in an expensive suit.

Dominic leaned back on the couch, legs spread wide, a glass of whiskey in one hand while the other beckoned me closer. His eyes were hungry, sharp, the kind of gaze that stripped me bare before I even touched him.

“Dance.” The single word left no room for refusal.

I swallowed hard and moved, hips swaying, hands trailing over my body, pretending this was just another lap dance. But his stare burned through me, making me falter, making every movement feel like I was baring my soul instead of my skin.

“Closer,” he ordered.

I straddled him, my thighs shaking. His hand snapped around my throat, squeezing not enough to cut my air, but enough to remind me who was in control.

“You think you can hide behind that good girl face?” His lips curled into a cruel smirk. “You’re in my world now. And here—” he tugged my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes, “—I own everything I touch.”

Before I could react, his mouth crashed against mine, brutal, consuming. His tongue invaded, his teeth biting hard enough to sting. I gasped, and he took the chance to shove his hand between my legs, ripping my panties aside without hesitation.

“f**k—Dominic—”

He silenced me with a sharp slap across my ass, the sound echoing in the room. “Don’t say my name like you own it. You moan it when I allow it. Understand?”

My chest heaved, shame heating my face. I nodded.

“Good girl.” He shoved his c**k free, hard and thick, veins pulsing. My breath hitched.

“Please—”

He growled, pulling my hips down hard, forcing me onto him in one brutal thrust. Pain ripped through me, sharp and raw, making me cry out. His grip on my throat tightened as he held me still, buried to the hilt.

“Take it,” he snarled in my ear. “Every inch. Cry for me. I like it when they cry.”

Tears blurred my vision as he began to move, pounding into me with merciless rhythm, each thrust knocking the air from my lungs. I clawed at his shoulders, desperate for balance, but he only laughed.

“Pathetic little w***e,” he groaned, slapping my ass again, harder this time. “Look at you clinging to me, squeezing my c**k like your body was made for it. You’ll pretend you hate it, but your cunt knows the truth.”

Shame burned hotter than the pleasure I couldn’t deny. My body betrayed me, tightening around him, pulsing, dragging me closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” Dominic growled, f*****g me harder, faster, his whiskey-soaked breath hot against my ear. “Come for me. Come on my c**k like the needy slut you are.”

And I did my orgasm ripped through me, violent, humiliating, my scream muffled by his hand clamping over my mouth. My body shook, convulsing around him, milking him until he cursed, slamming deep one final time before spilling inside me with a savage groan.

He held me there, his seed filling me, his grip bruising my hips. Then, as if I were nothing more than a toy he’d finished with, he shoved me off his lap, tucking himself back into his slacks with casual ease.

I was trembling on the couch, panties torn, body aching, shame burning hotter than the aftershocks of pleasure.

Dominic smirked, sipping his whiskey like nothing had happened. “Don’t forget this, sweetheart.” His gaze cut into me like a blade. “You sell your body to survive. But tonight…” His tongue ran slowly over his lips. “You sold your soul to me.”

you dance for no one else but me, he said with a smirk claiming his spot.