Adriana

He stood across the room, arms crossed tightly over his broad chest, his jaw clenched in a way that screamed disapproval. My lips curved into a mischievous smile. I relished the tension between us.

The pole, a gleaming chrome pillar rising from the centre of the stage, called to me like a siren. I stumbled toward it, my stilettos clicking against the floor with each unsteady step. My tight white dress hugged my curves like a second skin, accentuating the swell of my hips and the dip of my waist.

The crowd, sensing something was about to happen, began to part, their eyes fixed on me with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. Matteo’s gaze followed me every move, his expression a mix of frustration and something darker, something primal that he couldn’t quite suppress.

Reaching the pole, I gripped it with both hands, my fingers wrapping around the cool metal. I paused for a moment, my chest heaving as I steadied myself, before turning to face the crowd. With a sharp tug, I ripped the side of my dress, the fabric tearing with a satisfying sound that sent a ripple of excitement through the onlookers.

The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, their voices blending into a cacophony of approval. More skin was exposed now, my thigh, my hip, and my confidence seemed to grow with each inch revealed.

The music, a sultry mix of deep beats and haunting vocals, seemed to sync with my movements as I began to dance. My body swayed seductively, slow and deliberate, my hips rolling in a rhythm that was both practised and instinctual.

My drunkenness added a raw, unfiltered edge to my performance, my movements less polished but more authentic, as if I were dancing solely for myself. The crowd watched, transfixed, their eyes devouring me like wolves circling prey.

Matteo’s grip tightened on his arms, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to storm the stage, to drag me off and shield me from the hungry stares, but something held him back.

Maybe it was the way I moved, only staring at him, the unapologetic boldness in my every gesture, that ignited a fire in him he couldn’t ignore. He was torn between his role as my protector and the primal urge to claim me, to remind me and everyone else that I was his.

My dance grew more intense, my body becoming one with the pole. I climbed it with surprising grace, my legs wrapping around it like a second skin. My movements were fluid, practised, as if I'd spent years on the poles. I slid up and down the pole, my laughter echoing through the club, a mixture of giddiness and pure, unadulterated joy.

My dress, now little more than a scrap of fabric, clung to my body in places and hung loose in others, exposing flashes of skin that sent the crowd into a frenzy.

Matteo’s jaw tightened as he watched me, his disapproval warring with the raw, primal intrigue that stirred within him. He could feel the eyes of the crowd on me, their stares bold and unashamed, and it ignited a possessive fury in him.

I was his wife, not some performer for their entertainment. But as he watched me laugh, my head thrown back in abandon, he felt something else: a heat that coiled low in his belly, a desire that was both familiar and foreign.

My movements became more daring, my body pressing against the pole in ways that left little to the imagination. The crowd roared their approval, their whistles and catcalls filling the space.

Finally, Matteo’s patience snapped. With a growl, he pushed through the crowd, his long strides eating up the distance between them. My laughter faltered as I realised what was going on, my eyes widening in a mix of surprise and defiance.

Before I could react, he was on the stage, his hands closing around my waist. He scooped me up, my legs dangling as he slung me over his shoulder.

“Matteo, no!” I protested, my laughter bubbling up again as I pounded my fists weakly against his back. “Put me down! I wasn’t done!”

But Matteo didn’t listen. His grip on my waist was firm, unyielding, as he carried me off the stage and through the crowd.

Matteo paused at the edge of the crowd, and I felt his chest heaving beneath me as he held me securely over his shoulder. Through my upside-down view, I could see Gabriel standing near the bar with his mouth hanging open in astonishment.

Gabriel began to clap slowly, then faster, his laughter ringing out above the music. "Bravo! Bravo, Adriana!" he called out, his grin wide and genuine.

"Goodnight, Gabriel," Matteo said tersely, his voice rumbling through his body and into mine.

I lifted my head from where it dangled against his back, my face flushed and my hair wild. "Goodnight, Gabe!" I sang out cheerfully, waving with what I thought was enthusiasm but was probably just drunken flailing.

Matteo adjusted his grip on my waist and began moving toward the exit. Just before we reached the door, I felt him turn back. "We still need to talk!" he shouted over the pulsing music.

I giggled as we disappeared through the exit, the cool night air hitting my exposed skin.

The world became fuzzy the moment I settled into the car seat. My head felt heavy, and I let it fall against something solid and warm. I heard Matteo's voice, soft and distant, saying words I couldn't quite catch.

When I stirred again, I was being carried, cradled against his chest like something precious. "I've got you, Princess," I heard him murmur, and I felt his lips press against my forehead.

Everything after that came in fragments. The softness of the bed beneath me. His gentle fingers were working at my dress, replacing it with something that smelled like him. Cool water touching my lips.

"Here, baby, just a little water," his voice coaxed, so tender it made my heart ache.

I tried to speak, to tell him something important, but the words came out garbled and wrong. My eyes grew heavy again.

"Sleep now, my love," he whispered, and I felt him settle beside me as darkness pulled me under.