Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Chloe
Enzo had already left the stage area, but my heart didn't slow down with him.
The dance steps I'd barely memorized after three days of practice were all messed up. My feet hit the wrong beats, my hips twisted against the music, my arms froze mid-air, clueless where to go. The guys below still whistled and tossed bills, but my mind wasn't on the stage anymore.
All I could think about was the look Enzo had thrown my way. He stared hard, aggressive, making my skin burn. Everything from that top-floor office three months ago flooded back. Just his gaze had my thighs tingling with embarrassing heat. I hated my body—it was way more honest than my wild side.
I shook my head, trying to ditch the fantasies, and bit my lip to focus on the steps, but my body wouldn't listen. Enzo dominated my thoughts.
I'd figured I'd never see him again, but here we were, in a place like this. Did a cold bastard like him need to hit up a strip club for women? With his money and power, chicks probably threw themselves at him.
Lost in my head, manager Silvio suddenly jumped on stage. His hand clamped my arm, hard enough to make me stumble.
"Get down," Silvio hissed, grinning ear to ear. "You're in luck, sweetheart. Big boss wants to see you."
He yanked me backstage. Other dancers shot looks, a few veterans exchanging knowing glances. They'd seen this plenty—rich guys picking girls, nothing new here.
My legs went weak. I had no clue what was next, but none of it felt good.
"Who wants me?" I tried fishing for more from Silvio.
His eyes crinkled with that sleazy smile. "You don't need his name. Just know he's the real owner of this club, this whole damn street. Serve him right, and you're set here."
He leaned in, voice low and filthy. "Better bring your A-game, make him speechless with pleasure. Big shots like him don't go for just any open legs, got it?"
His words were blunt as hell, shattering my last hope. I'd thought dancing a few strips would pay off that bullshit breach fee slowly. I wasn't ready to sell my body for real.
Especially not pregnant. But right now, I had zero ways to fight back.
I bit the inside of my lip hard, tasting blood.
The hallway got darker. Wall lights shifted from white to deep red. Carpet changed from worn gray to plush crimson, silent underfoot. Air turned too—from sweat and cheap perfume in the dance area to cigars and fancy wood scent. The mix choked me.
My heart pounded heavier with each step.
Two guys stood at the VIP room door.
Not regular bouncers. These beasts were over six feet, in tailored black suits. But the cut left extra space at the chest and pits. I'd bet guns were tucked in there.
Their eyes scanned me. One nodded to Silvio, then pulled the door open.
My legs turned to jelly. I'd suspected this club's shady side, but mafia ties? Remembering Liam's warning, my blood ran cold.
Fuck, I'd thought dancing like shit would keep me out of this mess.
I hesitated at the door for a second. Before the guards stared me down, I gritted my teeth and stepped in.
Damn it, if I told this big boss I wasn't here willingly, would he let me go?
The room was even dimmer. Red light seeped from wall strips. Whiskey and cigar smells hung heavy. Leather sofa took half the wall, table held bottles and cut fruit.
Then I saw the big boss himself.
Enzo lounged in the sofa's center, right leg over left, left arm on the back.
His tie hung loose, black satin dangling on his chest. Shirt unbuttoned at the top, showing a sliver of skin below the collarbone.
Sleeves rolled to forearms, that scar on his right arm out in the open—from inner wrist to elbow, jagged edges two shades darker.
I froze. My brain exploded, pieces scattering.
Enzo owning this club was shock enough. But he looked nothing like the company version.
Office Enzo was perfect—custom suit buttoned to the top, cold and stern like a gorgeous, emotionless statue.
This guy slouched lazy and wild. He tilted his chin up, dark eyes raking my body without shame. Raw, arrogant power poured off him.
Or put bluntly, he was sexy as hell, driving me nuts.
Enzo nodded at Silvio when he saw me. Silvio got the hint, backed out, and shut the door.
A few others lingered—two black-clad goons in the corner, relaxed but watchful. Two club girls sat at the sofa's end, curious eyes on me before dropping.
Enzo raised his right hand, hooked two fingers my way.
"Come here."
His voice rumbled low from his chest, echoing in the quiet room, sending chills up my spine.
My body reacted faster than my brain—stomach tightened, tingles shot from my tailbone.
Enzo waited two seconds, then arched a brow impatiently.
"I said, come here."
I had no power to resist here. I walked over. Legs like lead, knees shaking, but I made it to him.
Enzo didn't speak. His gaze started at my face, slid down. Past the cheap sequin necklace, over the club-issued tube dress hugging my chest, waist, hips, down to my heels. Then back up. It felt like being stripped bare.
Though he had stripped me before.
That crappy memory left me with no confidence. I didn't know what to say—anything would amp the awkward. We weren't close, just boss and employee who'd barely met, parted ugly, reunited worse.
Enzo broke the silence first.
"So." His voice drawled lazy. "The designer who left me hooker cash and ran is now dancing in my club."
My face burned. Bastard, bringing that up in front of everyone to humiliate me.
"I didn't..." I tried explaining it wasn't willing, but he cut me off.
"Since you're the new stripper." Enzo sipped whiskey from the table, eyes never leaving me. "Show me what you got."
His tone dripped with hot implication.
I knew he didn't mean dancing.
"Now? Here?" My voice came out dry.
"Now. Here." Enzo echoed, tone flat. "You're the stripper, I'm your client and boss. Service me till I come. Call it interest on that full conversation you owe me."
I froze solid, couldn't move.
Sleeping with Enzo Falcone wasn't a bad memory—hell, if it was just us two left in the world, I'd probably go again.
But we weren't alone.
Everyone watched. Goons blank-faced, club girls heads down but peeking. Even Silvio lurked half-in the door.
Spotlights on me. I didn't want to be their sex show monkey.
I knew what Enzo was doing—payback for that note, my jab at his ego. Now he struck back.
"Can they leave? Boss." I begged, hoping he had some shame.
"You think you can bargain with me?"
Enzo patted his thigh. Twice, not hard, meaning clear.
His face stayed calm, but I sensed a wicked smirk.
I closed my eyes, sucked in a breath, and stiffly sat on his lap.
His thighs were rock-hard—that hit first. Muscle firm even through pants. Heat seeped up, his breath close. I tensed, hands clueless. Finally, right on his chest, left on the sofa back.
Eyes wandered. His face too close, lashes sharp. Elsewhere too obvious. Ended up on his eyes.
Big mistake.
Our stare locked, heart leaped to my throat.
Enzo quirked a brow. "Show me."
"Yes, boss."
I gave in, twisted my hips in a small circle, then stuck.
Enzo watched still, then thrust his hips up hard.
Fast, heavy, no warning. I bounced, nearly slid off, fingers clutched his collar to hold.
"You up for this?" he murmured, a hint of disdain.
That yanked me from nerves and shame.
"More than you think, sir."
I shifted, sank lower. Hands slid to his shoulders, fingers gripped. Ass ground hard against his thigh root.
Enzo's breath changed—instantly. That thing pressed my inner thigh.
He was hard.
Conquering a man like him felt like victory. I smirked at him.
"Satisfied? Mr. Falcone?"
Enzo chuckled softly, breath hot on my ear.
"Mediocre."
Next second, he grabbed my nape, yanked me down. Lips crashed—not a kiss, an assault.
Tongue invaded, swept the palate and teeth. Brain blanked, fingers clutched, and I released his shirt. I got sucked into a storm.
I struggled—useless. Twisting made that thing between my legs throb more. Enzo didn't stop. He yanked my dress neckline, palm covered, hit the spot, and pinched.
I arched sharply, a muffled groan escaped, trapped in his mouth.
"Oh no, Enzo." I gasped his name through lip gaps, begging for air.
He heard, but kept tormenting.
The dress top stretched near breaking. Fabric at limit—one more tug and it'd slip. His hand roamed inside, bolder. Those buttons were doomed.
No, I couldn't let everyone see me half-naked.
I finally shoved him back, a silver thread linking our lips. I wiped my mouth awkwardly, pleaded. "Not in front of them... please."
Enzo's eyes sparked amusement, head turned to the others.
"Out."
They scrambled, the door opened, shut.
Footsteps faded. I dropped my gaze, just us now, still in this intimate pose.
Enzo didn't let go—left hand circled my waist, right on my chest. Thumb traced a tiny circle around my nipple, light but electric. My body tingled from scalp to toes.
He tucked a loose hair behind my ear, fingertip grazed the lobe.
"Want to keep going." Not a question.
"I don't," I said.
We both knew the lie.
Enzo didn't argue—proved it with action. His hands slipped under my skirt. Inside, it was a hot, wet mess, broadcasting my bluff.
"Looks like the little liar needs punishment."
Enzo bucked his hips, intent clear.
"Suck me."
I hesitated, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. The room felt smaller now, just us, the air thick with whiskey and that damn cigar smoke clinging to everything.
Enzo's eyes bored into mine, dark and unyielding, like he owned every inch of me already.
And hell, maybe he did in this twisted moment.