His Contracted Temptation; Velvet Lies

DANTE

The club is filled like any other Friday night, but my mind, as always, is somewhere else. That sucks big time since I came here to distract myself.

There's a full glass of gin and tonic before me. I swirl it lazily. Booze has always kept me afloat. After a kill, I take a glass or two. A deal gone wrong? Same. Today it doesn't touch the edge of my nerves. Maybe it's the feds snooping, or maybe it's my sworn rival, Nacho Belluci, who has pinned an assassination on me...

"What the hell, Romano? Don't tell me you've got your head still wrapped around that shit," Alejandro yells, his hands clamped on my shoulder. "We came for premium pussy, and we're getting it. You feel me?"

"Speak for yourself," I mutter, shrugging him off. My gaze sweeps the room-always scanning.

"We had a plan, bro. Blonde with Kim K curves, nice tits," Alejandro continues. I roll my eyes. "C'mon, bro. If you're going to jail, the least you can do is have a little fun," he snickers.

That shit he said is probably meant to rile me, but I'll pass. After having Alejandro as both consigliere and best friend for close to thirty years, you tend to tune out when he gets mouthy.

"Woah... check out that girl," Alejandro says, trying again, pulling me toward the center of the room.

My nose wrinkles at the smell of alcohol on his breath. "For fuck's sake, how many drinks have you had?" I groan, about to slip free when he tilts my head, and I notice her.

My breath hitches as the music dies down in my head. I take a step forward as my fingers wrap around the rails. Craning my neck, I take a gulp of my drink. Bellissima.

Honey-blonde curls bounce freely as her body moves sultrily to the music like sin itself. Her eyes are closed, lost in the rhythm like she's in her own world. Crimson lips part while she slowly trails her hands down her neck, across her chest, teasing the swell of her breasts before squeezing them lightly. The slow twist of her waist is effortless, magnetic. Her hands slide to her hips, tracing their curves with the type of captivating energy that leaves me speechless-left hand tangled in her messy curls.

Heads turn, and whispers follow her as she moves, every eye in the room locked on her.

Her short black dress fits perfectly like illusion body paint, every curve perfectly outlined like it was made for her alone. The curve of her back slopes into an arch, her hips sway deliberately, a rhythm that seems to bend into the air around her, long legs in full view as her dress rides up. The sight is enough to create a tent in my pants. Fuck.

And then-she opens her eyes. Beneath the sweep of her lashes, I catch flashes of mischief. Her gaze locks on me, unflinching, unashamed. Every movement from that