“I’m sorry?” I stammered, confusion washing over me.
Roman’s arm tightened around me, a warning. Chloe’s smile widened, a predatory gleam in her eyes.
Dean, half-laughing and half-serious, looked like he was struggling to contain his amusement. His shirt was carelessly half-undone, adding to the absurdity of the situation.
Chloe stepped forward, her demeanor dripping with faux innocence. “You didn’t think we’d let tonight end without a little surprise, did you? Consider this my bridal shower.”
In that moment, clarity struck me like a lightning bolt.
I knew it.
The instant we stepped into this velvet-drenched lounge, I sensed something was amiss. It wasn’t merely the sultry lighting, dim and suggestive, or the faint strains of sensual R&B that seemed to wrap around us like a lover’s embrace.
No, it was Chloe’s smile. It was too sweet, too rehearsed, too full of self-satisfaction.
Roman turned to her slowly, his body language screaming restraint, as if he were on the brink of losing control. “What kind of surprise?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Her smile widened, a Cheshire grin that hinted at her glee. “A show. Savannah’s the headliner. Surprise!”
For a heartbeat, the air felt like it had been sucked from the room. Everything tilted, and then the realization hit me like a freight train.
Chloe orchestrated this.
She wanted to humiliate me, to strip me bare in front of them-Roman, Dean, herself-because the poolside embarrassment wasn’t enough. Because I dared to look better than her. Because, for once, the spotlight was on me instead of her.
She wanted me to embarrass myself in front of my fiancé and hers.
She wanted me to dance, knowing it would dredge up memories of him. She was aware that I hadn’t danced in ages, and this was her way of reopening old wounds.
She believed I would crumble, that I would see him in the lights, feel him in the bass, and succumb to the music that would coil around my hips. But I refused to dance for him. No, I was dancing for me. For vengeance.
I stole a glance at Roman. His expression was inscrutable, but I noticed the way his jaw clenched and his fingers curled into fists, betraying his inner turmoil.
A wave of embarrassment washed over me, but beneath it simmered something fiercer. Something hot, sharp, and savage.
Game on, bitch.
I turned to the hostess, my voice steady and laced with an edge. “Where can I change?”
The hostess smiled, gesturing for me to follow. “Right this way, ma’am.”
“Savannah…” Roman’s tone was a warning, a plea.
I ignored him, my resolve hardening.
Chloe’s confidence faltered, her eyes widening. “You’re not actually doing this.”
My smile was slow and deliberate. “Oh, I’m doing it. I’ll give you a show of a lifetime.”
The outfit she had chosen to humiliate me was daring, something only the boldest of women could pull off. Red lace and satin intertwined, accompanied by a lace mask that obscured part of my face. The corset-style top hugged my curves, with strappy sides that left little to the imagination. The thong was almost non-existent, and fishnet stockings climbed my legs, held up by a garter. Black stilettos with red soles completed the ensemble.
Joke’s on her. I looked incredible.
Emerging from the dressing room, I stepped into the dim light and enveloping silence. Velvet chairs lined the curved walls, and at the center of the room stood a solitary chair.
Empty.
Roman, Dean, and Chloe were already settled on a plush, curved couch, their silhouettes highlighted by the soft amber glow. A bottle of champagne sat in a silver bucket, untouched and glistening with condensation. Chloe was all teeth, grinning as if she believed she had already won. Dean appeared relaxed, his arm draped casually behind her, but I could feel his gaze on me, sharp and assessing.
The stage was set.
Roman’s presence was palpable, a force that could not be ignored.
Yet, unlike the others, his desires weren’t merely greedy; they were something far more sinister. They felt like a brewing tempest, heavy and foreboding, a dark cloud looming on the horizon.
Then the music began to play. It was sultry, a rich tapestry of sound that wrapped around us like a velvet cloak. The bass thumped with a primal rhythm, evoking an intoxicating sense of allure. It was as if the very act of rolling up the partition was an invitation to surrender.
Dean blinked, his eyes wide, as though he were trying to discern if I was a mirage or a reality. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a desperate need to absorb every detail of the moment.
Chloe, on the other hand, was rigid beside him, her mouth slightly agape in disbelief.
And there was Roman-oh, Roman. He was a vision, his legs spread confidently, hands gripping his thighs with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. His eyes were dark, almost feral, and his chest heaved as if he had just completed a marathon. But still, he remained utterly still, a statue of desire.
With a purposeful stride, I made my way to the stage, my movements reminiscent of a dream-slow, measured, and deliberate. Every step was a dance, a prelude to the storm that was about to unfold.
I caught a glimpse of Roman’s jaw tightening, a telltale sign of the inner conflict raging within him.
As I dropped into a squat before the vacant chair, I spread my thighs slowly, deliberately, as the lights focused on me, illuminating my every curve. My fingers glided up my inner thigh, teasingly caressing the fabric of my corset, before tangling in my hair. With a swift motion, I tossed my hair back, snapping my neck in a way that drew Roman’s gaze like a moth to a flame.
He was breathless.
I couldn’t help but smile, a small, confident curve of my lips that sent a thrill through the air.
Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, crossing his legs in a futile attempt to conceal the undeniable arousal that coursed through him. Chloe’s nails dug into the armrest, her expression morphing into one of brittle annoyance. She feigned a yawn, a poor disguise for the fury simmering beneath her surface.
I rolled my hips once, then twice, surrendering to the rhythm that enveloped me. I moved as though I were liquid, gliding around the chair, straddling it backward, leaning forward so that my breasts nearly grazed the top rail.
With a fluid grace, I lowered myself into a squat, my legs spreading wide, a motion that twisted Chloe’s features into a mask of irritation, while Dean’s breath caught in his throat, and Roman’s pupils dilated, darkening with raw desire.
I executed a flawless split, my body undulating with the beat, rising smoothly to my feet. I sauntered to the chair, my fingers trailing along its edges as I hooked my leg over it, finally straddling the seat.
Throughout this dance, my gaze remained locked on Roman, who squirmed in his seat, a mixture of arousal and jealousy flickering in his eyes.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.