Chapter 2

Olivia’s POV

The lights were dim, but the spotlight on the stage was bright enough to illuminate every curve of our bodies.

As we stepped onto the stage, I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. The other girls took their positions, and I found mine at the center, where Sira would normally be. The music changed to a seductive, slow rhythm, and I began to move, letting the beat guide my hips and the sway of my body. Luckily, I was a good dancer.

The crowd's reaction was immediate. Cheers and applause erupted as I moved sensuously, my body becoming a tantalizing silhouette against the spotlight. I locked eyes with a few of the men in the front row, their lustful gazes feeding my performance. Despite my initial nerves, I felt a surge of confidence. This was my moment to shine, to earn the money I desperately needed.

As I continued to dance, I couldn't help but scan the crowd for familiar faces. High-profile businessmen and celebrities often frequented the club, their identities hidden behind masks. As I made my signature moves, my eyes met those of a masked DOM. He looked different and unfamiliar. Despite not being able to see the faces of Doms, I could easily recognize our usual members by the color and shape of their eyes, and this DOM, I was sure I hadn’t seen him before. He was fully masked, with only his lips and piercing green eyes visible.

He was sitting in a VIP booth, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. Gulping nervously, I forced myself to focus on the dance, on the movements that would bring in the most tips. As the song neared its end, I finished with a flourish, arching my back and throwing my head back as the crowd erupted in applause. Dollar bills rained down on the stage, and I couldn't help but smile. It had been a successful performance.

The money on the stage is usually divided into six parts: one part each for the four strippers and the other parts for the club. As strippers, we have to hustle for our personal money by giving lap dances. Getting off the stage, I walked over to a familiar masked DOM, who smirked at me and gestured for me to dance for him.

Slowly, I got closer to him, turned my back against him, and lowered myself before him so that my ass was right in front of him. “Perfect ass,” he groaned and tried touching my ass, but I moved away. He frowned, took out some cash from his pocket, and handed it over to me.

“Now we are talking, sir.” I smirked and lowered my ass again to him, allowing him to smack it this time. “So soft!” he groaned and kept spanking my ass while I began twerking for him. My moves were graceful and seductive, and I could hear him groaning as he massaged my ass cheeks.

“Give me a lap dance, baby girl,” he demanded huskily, and I swallowed my emotions and turned to him. I straddled his lap, my legs on either side of his, keeping a respectful distance while giving the illusion of intimacy. As I started to move my hips in slow, circular motions, his hands roamed over my back. This was part of the job—keeping them wanting more, but never letting them have too much.

The crowd's noise faded into the background as I focused on the man in front of me. He was clearly enjoying himself, his grip tightening occasionally, but he remained respectful of the club's rules. I noticed that as I moved on him, his dick was becoming hard, but I ignored it. I was already used to Doms getting aroused whenever I gave them a lap dance. He tried touching my boobs, but I moved away, and he frowned.

“How much to fuck you?” he asked, his voice filled with desire as he held my ass. “I don’t fuck clients,” I responded while continuing to give him the lap dance. “Name your price.”

“I’m priceless for sex,” I responded, and the DOM frowned, but I ignored his frown and went on with the lap dance.

I noticed the masked DOM with the piercing green eyes watching me from his VIP booth. His gaze never wavered, and the intensity of his stare made my skin prickle with a mix of fear and intrigue. Who was he? And why was his gaze having such an effect on me?

When the song ended, I gracefully stood up and collected the cash the man handed me. “Thank you, sir,” I said, forcing a polite smile. As I tried to walk away, but I noticed the green-eyed man gesturing for me to come over to him.

“Me?” I asked nervously and saw him nod. Damn! Why was I feeling so nervous? Sucking in a deep breath, I seductively approached him, ignoring calls from the other Doms. Reaching where he sat, I flashed a friendly smile, but his expression was stern and firm.

The masked DOM’s intense gaze didn't waver. He lounged in the plush seat with an air of authority, exuding confidence and power. I could feel his eyes trailing every part of my body.

“Would you like a dance, sir?” I asked, my voice steady but polite. He nodded, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Yes. Dance for me,” he said, his voice deep and commanding, and I surprisingly found myself submitting to him.

I took a deep breath and began to move, swaying my hips in rhythm to the music. My body moved instinctively, every motion designed to entice and captivate him. His eyes followed my every move, and I could feel the intensity of his gaze burning into me. It was as if he were seeing right through me, seeing all my vulnerabilities and fears.

As I danced, I couldn't shake the feeling that this masked DOM was different. There was something about him that set him apart from the other patrons. His presence was commanding, almost magnetic, and I found myself drawn to him. “Come closer,” he instructed, his voice soft but firm. I stepped closer, my body brushing against his knees. He reached out, his hands gently resting on my hips, guiding my movements. His touch was firm but not intrusive, commanding but not overbearing. It sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and excitement.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his eyes never leaving mine. “Olivia,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “Olivia,” he repeated, as if tasting the name on his tongue. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” “Thank you, sir,” I said, forcing a smile. He leaned back, still holding my gaze. “Twerk for me.” He demanded, and I nodded before turning my back to him.

As I turned around, I felt the weight of his piercing gaze on me. His intense eyes tracked my every move, making me feel both exposed and powerful. I began to twerk, my movements slow and seductive. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and appreciative. His hands rested lightly on my hips, not to control, but to feel the rhythm of my dance. He caressed my ass, and instead of feeling disgusted as I usually did when other Doms touched me, I leaned into his touch and wanted more. Fuck! What is wrong with me?

“Turn around," he commanded softly. I did as he asked, facing him once more. He studied me for a moment, his gaze piercing through the mask. "Sit on me.” He demanded. Swallowing my anxiety, I straddled him, my knees on either side of his thighs, feeling the firm muscles beneath the fabric of his pants. His eyes never left mine, and I found myself captivated by the intensity of his gaze. His hands rested on my hips, guiding my movements once more as I began to grind against him slowly, sensually. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the firm grip of his hands sending shivers down my spine. It was as if he had a magnetic pull, that I couldn’t resist.

“Do you enjoy this, Olivia?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur that sent a thrill through me. “Yes, sir,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a complete lie. There was something about this masked DOM that was different, something that made this dance feel less like a job and more like an intimate connection.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Good. Because I want to fuck you,” he groaned into my ear, and my breath hitched. I have heard countless men say such words to me, but why does it feel so different coming from him? Why does my whole body jerk in anticipation the moment he says that? “Tell me your price and consider it paid,” he muttered while I remained speechless and numb. Our gazes interlocked, and for a moment, I couldn’t look away from him. I was so intoxicated by his gaze that I couldn’t look away, and neither could he look away from me either.

“Beep, beep,” the beeping of his cellphone made us break eye contact, and I heard him sigh as he reached for his phone. He picked up the call and placed the cellphone to his ear. But Something caught my attention, something that made my breath hitch in my chest. Right on his left wrist was the same unmistakable scorpion tattoo, the same tattoo that has been imprinted in my mind, the same tattoo that was on the wrist of the masked man who assassinated my family!