Page 2 of Depraved Temptation
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, sweaty and flushed.
Undone.
"Who was he?" I whisper to myself, the question hanging in the air like a tantalizing mystery.
Chapter 2
Alexander
Risqué is a world of contradictions. It is where fantasy meets reality and where business meets pleasure. Right now, I’m seated at the head of a long, ornate table in a private box in the club’s theater, a testament to its dual nature. The air is thick with the rich scent of aged leather and the deep aroma of polished wood. Above, chandeliers cast a soft, golden glow, their light dancing off the gleaming surfaces. Below me, the rest of Risqué comes alive. Seats fill with anticipation, and the stage waits, its curtain drawn, hinting at the evening’s promises.
Looking around, I note that the attendees at my table are a curated list of the powerful and influential, their presence proof of the pull I have in this city. While most faces remain neutral, I don't miss the occasional glances thrown my way—a cocktail of respect, a splash of envy.
I lean forward, my fingertips lightly grazing the tabletop. The room's chatter subsides almost instantly.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I begin, my voice steady and commanding, “tonight is not just about leisure. We’re on the cusp of branching out into new territories, diversifying in ways most of our competitors can only dream of.”
A murmur of agreement goes around, and I can see them hanging onto every word, waiting for direction.
“By the end of this quarter, our investments in the Eastern markets should yield significant returns,” I continue, maintaining my poised demeanor, “and that’s just the beginning.”
Jared, sitting to my immediate right, slides a sleek black folder toward me. His demeanor is one of a loyal second-in-command. “The docks,” he whispers, just loud enough for those around to hear. “We've secured them. The shipments will move smoother now.”
A smirk forms on the face of Mariana, an impeccably dressed woman with sharp eyes, from across the table. "Always knew you had a thing for the seas, Alex," she says teasingly, hinting at more than just business. “And here I thought you preferred the more... subterranean routes.”
I shoot her a knowing look, the weight of our shared history evident. "Times change, Mariana. Adaptation is key.”
“We can't ignore the legal implications, though,” interjects Damien, a lawyer with an affinity for risky ventures. His gaze is serious, a stark contrast to his flamboyant tie. “The docks are a hot spot, and the authorities are sniffing around.”
I lean back, my fingers steepled. "That’s where you come in, isn’t it?" My voice is dripping with confidence. "I trust you'll handle any unexpected complications.”
Damien nods, clearly aware of the weight of his role, “Always have, always will.”
Satisfied, I continue outlining the evening's agenda. "We have the groundwork laid out. Risks? Absolutely. But the rewards? They're bound to be monumental. Let’s ensure we keep it that way.”
The room is a hive of whispers and nods. We're all in this together, navigating the murky waters of ambition. And just as Risqué blurs the lines between fantasy and reality, my empire is poised to do the same between legality and opportunity.
The mellow resonance of a cello reverberates through the room as the theater's illumination transitions to a more intimate setting. As the curtain starts to rise, most at the table keep their eyes fixed on their documents, their fingers flipping through pages with practiced ease. It's clear they've mastered the art of nonchalance, prioritizing business in an environment designed to distract.
But my eyes are riveted elsewhere.
At first, all I see is a mere silhouette against the muted backdrop. As the spotlight gradually intensifies, it reveals a strong, curvy outline. Her posture exudes confidence, her physique that of a seasoned performer. But there's something else—a raw, untamed allure that I've never seen at Risqué before.
"Alexander, the documents you requested," Jared extends a leather-bound folder toward me. My fingers graze the cool leather as I take it, but it's as if I'm touching it through a fog.
On stage, the dancer isn't just moving; she's alive in a way that makes everything else seem still. Her body twists and turns with strength and fluidity, each movement layered with nuanced emotion. Her hips sway in perfect arcs, a visual echo of the dedication and time etched into every muscle, every curve—curves that defy the cookie-cutter norms of the dancers often featured here.
"Harrington, your thoughts on the proposal?" Mariana interjects, her pen hovering above the contract.
Ripping my eyes from the stage feels like tearing off a piece of my own skin. I lock onto Mariana's expectant gaze. "It seems promising," I say, but the words float in the air untethered, as if coming from someone else's mouth. "I'll need a moment to review the specifics."
Yet that "moment" seems as distant as the moon when the woman on stage resumes her dance. Each beat of the music feels like a pulse of electricity, magnetizing me to her. Her body articulates what words cannot, a siren song translated into physical form. I can almost feel the pull in my bones, a gravitational force that pits itself against the stark black and white of the contract in front of me.
"Alex," Jared interjects, a noticeable edge of irritation creeping into his voice. "The documents?"
Once again, my focus splinters. Forcing a smile, I clutch the folder tighter in my hands, as if by doing so, I can bridge the widening chasm between my responsibilities and the yearning ignited by this performance.
Another figure joins her on stage. Her partner, a tall man, moves with a fluid grace that perfectly complements her own. Their eyes lock, and even from my seat, I feel the charge between them. For a moment, I replace him in my mind, sharing that electric gaze with her, feeling the heat that must be emanating from her skin.