Married to a Stripper

Chapter 9 – Ryan

I waited outside the Velvet, posture relaxed against the Mercedes, fury simmering steady under my skin.

The night was cool, air sharp, but none of it touched me. My temper burned hotter, still tasting of the show she’d just given me.

The club door shoved open, a blast of smoke, bass, and drunk laughter spilling into the street.

Amber stepped out.

She looked raw from the stage. Jacket half-zipped, cheap red dress clinging where sweat dampened sequins, lipstick smeared faint across her mouth. Her hair hung loose, messy waves sticking to flushed skin. I could still see the black lace flashing under the fabric when she moved.

It wasn’t the crowd that had marked her. It was me.

She stopped when her eyes found me.

I didn’t move. My voice cut, cold, final.

“Get in the car.”

Amber’s chin tilted. “I’m going home.”

My mouth curved without humor. “No. You’re not.”

She crossed her arms, jacket sliding lower down her shoulder, exposing the edge of red lace. It was deliberate or not, I didn’t care. My c**k twitched again, memory of her on that stage crawling back like fire under my skin.

“You don’t get to decide where I live.”

A valet jogged past with keys in hand. His gaze caught Amber, sequins, sweat, wild hair. His throat worked once before he snapped his eyes away. Not a word spoken, but the look was enough. Judgment landed sharp.

My shoulders stiffened. I straightened from the car, stepping closer until my shadow swallowed hers. Height and breadth pressed until the street seemed smaller.

“I do,” I said. “Clause eight, section two. Primary residence must be shared. That means my penthouse. Starting tonight.”

Her lips parted, quick flash of surprise before she masked it. “You’re quoting your own damn contract?”

“Don’t test me tonight.”

Her jaw set. “You think dragging me into your glass palace makes me yours? It doesn’t change what I am.”

My hand shot out, wrapping her elbow. Not brutal, not soft... just enough to hold. Heat jolted through my palm, unwanted, instant.

Amber’s eyes dropped to my grip, then back up, blazing. “Take your hands off me.”

I let go after one beat too long. Control stung as it slipped back into place.

My voice was a blade. “Get. In. The car.”

She yanked free, rubbing her arm hard, as if to erase me. Her glare could have cut glass. Still, she stalked forward, heels biting the ground.

I opened the rear door. She slid inside, chin tilted, spine rigid, pretending defiance even as the contract bound her.

---

The car swallowed silence.

Amber pressed to the far side, arms crossed, eyes on the black window. The hem of her dress rode higher with every shift. Sequins glinted in the low lights like a dare.

I watched a second too long, remembering her spread on stage, her thighs shaking, her hips rolling like she was already mine.

My c**k pressed heavy against my zipper, still not cooled down from the Velvet. I dragged my gaze away, flexed my fingers against my thigh until the leather seat creaked.

The driver adjusted the mirror, caught Amber’s reflection, then lowered his eyes fast. Even he’d seen too much.

The Mercedes eased into traffic.

Her laugh cut sharp, bitter. “So that’s it? I’m a clause to you. A body you can lock up and haul out when convenient.”

I turned, eyes slicing into her. “You’re not a body. You’re an image. A shield. You’ll be what I need.”

Her mouth curled. “And if I refuse?”

“You won’t. Half a million. You signed. You don’t get to play righteous now.”

Her nails dug crescents into her arms. “I didn’t sell myself. I bought survival.”

My gaze dragged once more across her dress, damp from sweat, lace peeking when the hem shifted. A problem I refused to name.

“Call it whatever helps you sleep.”

Amber snapped her face back to the window. Lights fractured across the glass, breaking her reflection into pieces.

Her voice was low, raw. “You’re disgusting.”

I leaned back, voice quiet. “Your silence does more damage than a slap.”

The car turned. The tick of the blinker echoed like a clock.

She stayed rigid, chin up. But then the road bent. Her thigh brushed mine, fabric sliding against fabric. She stiffened, jerking closer to the door.

But I caught it... her breath hitched, pulse leaping in her throat. The heat lingered between us, invisible but sharp as a wire pulled tight.

I flexed my fingers once, forcing my gaze back to the road. The cage was already closing.

---

The city bled away into glass and steel until only the skyline cut the night. My penthouse tower rose above it all, black glass and sharp edges lit like a crown. Cameras blinked red on every corner, the gate to the underground garage opening at my code.

Amber’s lips parted. “That’s not a home. It’s a f*****g fortress.”

She wasn’t wrong.

The car rolled into the garage, tires whispering against polished concrete. Guards glanced once at the car and looked away. The elevator stood waiting, doors steel, blinking for me alone.

The driver hurried to her door, but she snapped, sharp, “I don’t need help.”

Her tone was acid, but I saw it, the quick dart of her eyes at me, the tremor in her fingers when she pushed the door herself. She stepped out, heels wobbling against the concrete, straps cutting red into her ankles. She straightened fast, pretending balance. Pride was the only thing holding her spine up.

I passed her, walking steady, swiping my card. The elevator doors slid open. She followed, sequins catching faint light, jacket hanging loose, hair wild. Too raw. Too tempting.

Inside, the elevator hummed. I hit the penthouse button. She pressed herself against the far wall, arms crossed. Her perfume was still layered with sweat and smoke, hitting harder in the confined space. My c**k twitched again, traitorous, thick and aching.

I clenched my jaw, hands fisting at my sides.

The ride was silent, tension heavier than the steel around us.

When the doors opened, the penthouse swallowed her whole.

Glass walls stretched floor to ceiling, Chicago sprawling in lights below. Black-veined marble glowed under recessed lighting. A fireplace hummed low, heat sliding over polished wood. Minimal. Sharp. Expensive.

Amber froze on the threshold. Her heels clicked once against the marble, echoing back too loud. She looked down, the floor spat her reflection up, fractured, reminding her she didn’t belong.

“This isn’t a home,” she spat. “It’s a f*****g cage.”

“Call it whatever you want,” I said, moving closer, voice heavy. “It’s yours for the next year.”

“Nothing here will ever be mine.”

Her nails dug into her arms, shoulders stiff, but her chest betrayed her — one sharp hitch of breath.

“You’ll live here. You’ll sleep here. You’ll play your part. That’s all that matters.”

“You think contracts and glass buy ownership? You don’t own me.”

I leaned down, voice low, precise. “You don’t sleep in my bed. This is image, not intimacy. Don’t confuse the two.”

The words sliced. Relief tangled with humiliation in her eyes. Rage tangled with something sharper she tried to bury.

“Sophie will be here at nine,” I added. “Learn to open doors before they shut on you.”

Her jaw locked. She turned, eyes catching the skyline through the glass. All she saw was distance. All I saw was a woman who’d stood in front of hundreds of men and still made me lose control.

“Welcome home,” I said.

She flinched, barely, but enough.

And when she turned from me, all I saw was possession.

Mine.

Even if she hated it.