Mafia King’s Forbidden Chains (Savage Mafia Empire #1)

Prologue Selene

I can feel his eyes on me. My fingers close unsteadily around the pole, beads of perspiration trickling down my bare back and settling on my swaying waist.

Feel the music...

I can hear my Nana’s words as I fist the metal pole, my feet crossing at the ankles. The melodious rhythm wraps itself around my torso, nudging my body into a twirl.

Release your inner self, girl...

My Nana was the only one who supported my dancing. After she died, I never danced for anyone again until six months ago.

I’m no professional dancer, but I know how to sway my hips, how to spin slow and low, how to slide down with my thighs flexing and my ass jiggling.

Wads of dollar bills come floating down on me as I bend my ass over, rolling it for the hungry men leering at me. The oohs get louder. My eyes roll with indignation.

Thankfully, they can’t see my disgust as my eyes are well cloaked with a glittering mask.

I hate having to be an object of pleasure for pussy hungry men, but if I don’t do this, I can’t afford to pay the overdue bills.

Angling my head towards the VIP section directly across the stage, my eyes suddenly connect with his. And my breath instantly seizes.

Fuck.

His eyes are like piercing darts, trailing violently down my cleavage, every stretch of my legs, every swing of my hands. I can’t bring myself to look away.

There’s a lit cigarette buried between his tatted knuckles. An odd shiver pricks my spine when he takes a long, slow drag.

My heartbeat quickens as I take in the smooth outline of his sharp jaws. Even through the dim red lights of the club, I can see every inch of his movement. How his strong thighs part slightly, the predatory roll of his shoulders, and the subtle narrowing of his eyes.

Who is this man? And what the hell is he doing to me?

I’ve never had a man from the VIP section pay attention to me before. The strange thing is, this one doesn’t just seem to be any customer. The guy’s obviously a fucking king.

My head swirls away from him as more cash rains down on my wiggling butt cheeks.

I’ve always detested the feeling that seizes me every time a man has his eyes fixated on me when I’m dancing, but this…my eyes dart towards him again…this man awakens something strange within me.

And I think he knows it.

He’s beautiful in that dangerous, impossible way. His broad shoulders, draped in an expensive three-piece suit, are relaxed like he owns the whole place.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually does.

His face is set as if cut from stone: sharp jawline, commanding eyes, and lips that don’t smile but don’t need to.

He leans forward slightly, just enough to reveal the dark patterns tattooed on his hefty chest. The movement is minimal, but it makes my heart flutter.

He looks like sin wrapped in silk.

He drags his gaze over my body like he’s memorizing me. His tongue trails his bottom lip just as my palm trails the arc of my butt cheeks.

Heat blooms under my neck as he adjusts in his seat. My nipples tighten under the thin fabric of my bralette. My breath falters, and I almost miss a step. Almost.

What the fuck, Selene! Get a grip!

I clasp the pole again, thighs clenching, sweat pooling at the base of my spine.

I can’t look away. Neither can he. It seems like he’s stripped me, not just my body but my soul. Like he sees things no one else sees in me.

The song slows, and so do I. I slide down the pole, my knees parting just enough to tease him.

He suddenly rises to his feet and, with a flick of a finger, summons my boss. My heartbeat triples.

This is only my third week dancing in the club, and I can’t afford to mess it up. I move on instinct and adrenaline, just as my Nana taught me. Well, at least the instinct part is what she taught me.

When I turn back to him, he’s gone.

A lump forms in my throat as my head jerks, looking for him.

“Ariel?”

Hearing my name—well, the name I’ve been using since I got to New York…after faking my death—makes me whip my head around immediately. It’s my boss—the one in charge of the strippers—Jan, standing in front of me.

“Get yourself cleaned up now. You’re needed in the presidential suite.”

“But…” I try to argue.

“Now,” he says firmly, shoving a black access card in my palm before walking away.

This asshole.

I’ve never been to the presidential suite, in fact, or any suite at all, to do a private dance.

I’m always on the club stage, jiggling my ass and showing my tits to fucking rich men who have nothing better to do with their money than to squander it on strippers.

I don’t even know what to expect dancing in a private suite, especially a presidential one.

Out on the floor, I know the rules. But there. ..

Swallowing thickly, I walk to the back of the club, turn through a passage, and come to a halt before a sleek black door. Sweat clamors in my palm as I nervously hold the black card with the same tag against the door. What should I even expect in there?

It’s just dancing…right? And I’m probably going to get paid handsomely.

Shaking my head, I shove the thought of messing up out of my mind and release a thick breath once…twice, then I swipe the card against the door. It opens, and I enter, a bit of drag in my steps. When I lift my head, I see…him.

He’s seated in the center of the lavish suite with his shirt half-unbuttoned, jacket tossed carelessly over the armrest.

The soft lighting glows like candlelight, casting golden shadows across the velvet couches, glass bar shelves, and smoked mirrors lining the walls. His brown eyes glow under the light. It is now that I see a few silver threads glinting in his stubble. He seems to be in his mid-forties.

I inhale the scent of spiced cologne; cedarwood, to be precise, and wait for him to say anything. He sits like royalty, one leg crossed, a crystal glass of amber liquor in hand. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence, just twirls his finger in the air in a sharp command.

“Dance,” his voice is thick and gravelly, holding an aura of command that no one could resist. I can’t resist, it doesn’t even make sense to. Arrogant much?

Still, I obey.

Turning around, I start to sway to the soft music coming from a hidden speaker. My hips twist, arms rising slowly as I sink into a crouch. I arch my back and grind low, hands running along my thighs.

My mask hides my face, but my pulse can’t stop thundering beneath it. His gaze is tense…hot, and I can feel it sizzling against my skin. I keep my back to him, trying not to fall apart under his gaze, but he’s clever. He stops the music halfway through, luring me to turn around.

Then he crooks a finger at me. Come here.

I have no choice but to sashay cautiously towards him.

Before I can fully process what’s happening, he drops the glass on the table beside him, and his hand snaps around my waist. I shiver as his other hand dips into my waistband, his eyes never leaving mine. His fingers trail lower...until they find the wet heat between my legs.

One thick finger slides inside me. A gasp falls from my lips. I can’t tell if it’s from surprise or pleasure.

My legs wobble, then another finger joins the first. I bite my lips to stop the moan as my nipples harden and my hips, of their own accord, grind into his hand. He slowly rises, undoing my bralette in one swift motion, freeing my breasts. His gaze darkens as they bounce into view.

But then he stops abruptly, yanking my mask off my face. I stumble back, arms covering my chest.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He pins me with a gaze. I can immediately tell he isn’t used to anyone questioning his actions.

“I…There’s a no-touching rule at the club.” I struggle to clear my throat.

He inhales deeply, rising to his full, intimidating height, and instead of irritation, a gripping desire wracks my senses. I see an obvious, oversized tent in his pants as I lower my eyes, and I’d be damned if I said I didn’t want to feel it.

“Rules don’t apply to me,” his jaw ticks. “Get on your knees.”

My brain tells me to recall my principle, but his words compel me, and my body answers before my mind does. The heat thrumming between my thighs controls me as I sink slowly to my knees on the plush carpet.

With deliberate ease, he undoes his belt.

The soft sound of leather swishing free makes my breath hitch.

Then his cock springs free, hard and glistening at the tip with precum.

My eyes widen, and I’m taken aback by the sight.

Thick doesn’t even cover it. It’s a fucking giant—long, veiny, and curved just enough to let me know that he needs a license to carry that around.

It should literally be in a museum, worshipped by all.

I stare for a beat too long, lips parting, throat tightening with hunger. He strokes himself lazily, cock heavy in his hand, as his thumb circles the head.

My pride should have stopped me, but it doesn’t. I lean in, heart pounding, tongue flicking out to taste him. The salty tease of pre-cum hits my tongue as his hand tangles in my hair.

“Fuck,” he grits, his head lolling back.

A raw groan rips his throat—a sound so primal it vibrates down to my core. I fist him between both hands and take him in deeper, inch by inch, until he nudges the back of my throat. My lips tighten around him, cheeks hollowing as I find a consistent rhythm.

His grip tightens in my hair as he thrusts feverishly. “Look at me.” His voice is a husky grunt that tingles my spine. I obey, meeting his gaze.

There’s fire in his eyes—one that threatens to burn me from the inside out. I feel him stiffen, and I want to increase my tempo when he pulls back with a hiss, wiping my mouth with his thumb.

“Get on the couch and spread your legs for me,” he commands, already stepping out of his tailored pants. I scramble to my feet, legs trembling as I settle onto the velvet couch.

The texture warms my back as I lie down, legs apart, and an ocean between. He kneels between my legs and dips his head between my thighs without warning.

I cry out as my hands fly to his head, gripping his soft, honey-brown locks. He groans into my pussy, tongue flicking and circling my clit. My back arcs and my fingers knot behind his head as I grind desperately into his mouth.

Just when I’m ready to cum, he stops and spanks my ass sharply. “Turn over.” His voice is hoarse and heavy with hunger. Once again, I obey, face flushed and body shivering as I get on all fours.

Grabbing my hips, he pulls me back into position, rubbing the wide circumference of my ass for a moment.

I bite my lips and hold back a moan as his hand teeters close to my core, when a loud smack resounds through the room.

I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips as I hear him growl in what seems to be appreciation.

I’m still reeling from the painful pleasure when the blunt head of his cock soon presses against my entrance, stretching me as he slides in slowly.

Damn...

He stays still, buried deep for a few seconds, letting me feel all of him.

I moan softly, and that’s all he needs. With a ragged breath, he slams into me, hands tight on my hips.

The couch creaks beneath us, my body jerking forward with every wild thrust. Another smack lands on my ass, but this time it's accompanied by a thick rasp.

“So fucking soft,” he kneads it and parts my cheeks even wider. I can tell he’s enjoying the view, but before I can smile, he fists both of my hands behind me and grabs at my hair, making me arch even more into him.

I bury my teeth into the fabric of the couch as the intensity of his ferociousness curls something in my stomach. I can already feel the pleasant sweetness of orgasm tickling my thighs. I’m on cloud nine.

One more hard thrust and my head rolls back, a loud moan slipping past my lips, my pussy drenching his cock with my cum.

When he stops to pull out, I whimper, but he’s not done. He sits back, muscles and tattoos gleaming with sweat under the low light, and pulls me onto his lap. “Ride me,” he breathes.

This man is a beast.

I shiver under his lust-filled gaze, repositioning myself.

I straddle him, sinking down slowly, biting back a moan as I take in all of him.

Again. One hand flies to his shoulder for stability, and the other traces his ripped chest, my nails dragging lightly over his abs.

He exhales sharply, fingers digging into my hips as I move.

Releasing a breathy moan, I ride him with slow, deliberate rolls, hips grinding down until I feel him pulse inside me. “Fuck,” he grunts, and his gaze narrows on my lips.

Before long, he kisses me. Our mouths crash together, tongues tangling in a hurried passion. There’s a faint taste of cigar and whatever he has been drinking.

Lord! Kissing him is just as sweet as fucking him. I moan into his mouth.

He groans, thrusting into me as the rhythm gets reckless. My release builds overwhelmingly until I’m breaking apart on top of him. His mouth finds my neck as I cry out, then he spills inside me with a grunt, arms wrapped tight around my waist.

We sit still like that, tangled and breathless, till sleep claims me.