His Forbidden Mistress

Chapter 5

Daniel Hawthorne

The VIP lounge at Neon Nights is my fortress, a dim sanctuary where I can shed the weight of my empire.

The bass from the main floor blast through the walls, syncing with the restless pulse in my chest. AsI lean back in the plush leather booth, a glass of whiskey cradled in my hand.

After last night’s chaos—too many women, too much champagne, too little substance—I craved something singular, something to seize my focus. I told Rico to send me the club’s best stripper, no loud talks, no distractions. Just one woman to hold my attention, if she’s capable.

The door swings open, and my breath catches.

She steps in, and the air crackles, charged with a current that prickles my skin.

She’s a vision in black—a sequence bodysuit clinging to every curve of her stunning, sensual frame, revealing boobs just enough to drive me wild with want.

Her jet-black hair flowing down her back, swaying with each deliberate step.

But it’s the mask that stops me dead—a delicate lace veil covering the upper half of her face, leaving only full, crimson lips and a defiant jawline exposed. Her eyes, veiled in shadow, seem to cut through me, and I’m already leaning forward, the whiskey forgotten.

She didn't speak, or even acknowledge me aside a slight tilt of her head, but her presence floods the room like a tempest.

The music shifts to a sultry beat, as if it is crafted for her, as she glides toward the pole at the lounge’s center. My pulse quickens, and I set the glass down, my eyes locked on her.

She grips the pole with one hand, her movements smooth, intentional, like she’s casting a spell. Her hips sway, slow and teasing, then snap with a precision that tightens my jaw.

She spins, her body arching, legs wrapping around the pole in a blend of grace and raw seduction. Each move is a dare, a challenge to look away, but I’m engrossed, captivated by how her curves catch the light, how her confidence radiates like a flame.

My body stirs, a deep ache igniting, but it’s more than lust.

There’s something about her—untouchable, like she’s dancing for herself, not me. I’m used to women begging for my favor, their eyes greedy for my wealth, my power, my approval.

But this one? She’s different. She doesn’t bow to me, and that defiance sets my blood ablaze. I want her, not just her body, but her fire, her secrets.

“Come here,” I say, my voice low, commanding, slicing through the music.

She pauses, one hand on the pole, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile that sends a jolt through me. She doesn’t move, just tilts her head, as if deciding if I’m worth her time.

The audacity—defying Daniel Hawthorne—fuels my desire.

“Dance for me,” I clarify, patting my thigh. “On my lap.”

Her smile fades, and even through the mask, I sense a shift, a spark of rebellion. She steps off the platform, her heels clicking on the polished floor, stopping just out of reach.

“That’s not what I do,” she says, her voice husky, edged with a defiance that makes my c**k twitch. It’s not just her words—it’s how she delivers them, drawing a line I’m forbidden to cross.

I stand, drawn to her like a moth to flame, my height looming as I close the gap.

She doesn’t retreat, but her body tenses, her breath hitching as I stop inches away. The air between us crackles, heavy with unspoken tension. I catch her scent—jasmine laced with rebellion—and it’s intoxicating.

My hand lifts, almost instinctively, reaching for the mask. I need to see her, to unmask the woman unraveling me with a dance and a refusal.

She jerks her head away, her hair brushing my fingers, and my hand freezes. “Don’t,” she warns, her voice low, firm. My pulse races, not from anger but from the thrill of her resistance.

Denial is foreign to me, and it’s electrifying.

“Then let me kiss you,” I murmur, leaning closer, my lips hovering near hers. Her breath catches, and for a fleeting moment, I thought she’ll yield.

Her lips part, full and tempting, and I can almost taste her—sweet, forbidden, mine. But she pulls back, breaking the spell, her masked eyes unreadable, her body radiating defiance.

“My time’s up,” she says, stepping back, her voice steady despite a faint tremor. She turns toward the door, her hips swaying with that maddening confidence, and I’m moving before I can stop myself.

“Wait,” I say, my hand grazing her wrist.

She freezes, her body rigid under my touch, but I feel her pulse racing, her skin warm.

“Stay. Name your price.”

I’m Daniel Hawthorne—I don’t plead, but I’m teetering on the edge, despising how desperately I need her to turn back, to give me anything.

The persuasion I need.

She pulls her wrist free, gentle but firm, and glances over her shoulder.

“You can’t afford me,” she says, her words sharp, leaving an exhilarating sting.

“What?” I ask in disbelief and shock.

“You heard me well.” she says in a daring voice.

A devilish smirk rest on my face as I pull her arm making her boobs touch my chest.

I want to reap her clothes off now and f**k her silly.

“Bet your p***y is f*****g tight.” I say roughly.

“Wha-”

I didn't let her speak as I placed my lips on hers.

Kissing her hard as I grab her ass.

I don't remember how long we kissed before she broke the kiss.

“You bastard.” She glared at me with anger in her even with her veil on. I could see her anger.

“Well. You kissed me back.” “ Don’t make a fuss about it.” I say with pride.

She looks like she was about to say something but she snorted and then she’s gone, slipping through the door like a phantom, leaving only the echo of her heels and a trace of jasmine.

I stand frozen, heart pounding, my body humming with her lingering presence.

The lounge feels hollow without her now, the music flat, the whiskey tasteless.

Women have thrown themselves at me, offering everything for a sliver of my world, but this masked siren walked away like I was nothing.

That makes her everything.

I sink into the booth, my mind racing.

Who is she? Why the mask? Why the refusal?

I’m obsessed, gripped by a hunger I haven’t felt since Vanessa’s, but this is darker, deeper, more dangerous.

I want to unravel her, break through her defiance, claim her in a way I’ve never craved before.

I bring out my phone as I text Rico : Get information on the mask girl now.

I hit send and soon I got a notification but It wasn’t from Rico.

Text: I'M WATCHING YOU DANNY. XOXO.

I glare at my phone screen. This is the second message I'm getting from the same number today.

I place my whiskey down in anger.

Who dares threaten me??

Some nerves the person has.

I text Rico: I just sent you a number now. Get it tracked.

RICO: Yes boss.

I smirk slowly.

Let's see who is watching who now.