Tied by Desire
Dominic's POV
"Aaagh!" I moaned, my voice echoing in the private lounge.
"Harder!," I demanded, pulling the stripper by her hair as she worked with my cock in her mouth. Shivers tore down my spine, my body tightening with each flick of her tongue. She tried to pull away when I reached my peak, but I wasn't about to let her escape. No… she had to take it all.
Hot release surged into her throat. She gagged, swallowed, and when she finally pulled back, her lips were glistening. She licked her fingers slowly, deliberately, her gaze meeting mine with a sultry smile.
Satisfaction rippled through me… not just from the act, but from the power of watching her obey.
"How was it?" I asked, flashing a wicked grin.
"Tasty," she replied, her tone playful, before strutting toward the pole like she owned it.
I leaned back on the leather couch, my kimono robe hanging open loosely, the belt untied. My hand reached for the whiskey bottle on the center table. I poured amber liquid into a crystal glass, watching how the dim golden light caught it, making it glow.
The stripper stretched against the pole, arching her back, rolling her body like she was sculpted only to entertain. Her hair swung against her neck as she spun, her legs parting in practiced grace. That's why I built this lounge… private, indulgent, a place where money built fantasies.
I swirled the whiskey in my glass, staring into it for a moment. For others, this drink was escape. For me, it was habit. A man like me doesn't escape… he controls.
The door creaked open.
I didn't move, though annoyance tightened my jaw. Only one person dared to interrupt me here.
"Must you always disturb me when I'm enjoying myself?" I asked without looking, my lips curved in a smirk.
"Sir," Nath's soft, professional voice filled the room. He stood in the doorway, folder in hand, always the obedient shadow. "You have another interview scheduled next week."
I took a slow sip of whiskey, letting the silence stretch. My eyes stayed fixed on the stripper instead of him. Nath knew me well enough to wait. Finally, I spoke, my tone low and edged.
"What the hell do they want to know this time?"
"Just the usual questions, sir," he said carefully. "About the company, your success…"
I snorted, a sharp, disdainful sound. "Media parasites. Money-grubbers and ass-kissers. They use my name, my empire, to feed their pockets. None of them care about the truth."
Nath remained silent, but I felt his quiet agreement. He was useful that way… he knew when to speak and when to vanish into the background.
I set the glass down. "Fine. Tell them I'll do the interview. But make it clear… I'm doing it for business, not because I give a damn what they think."
"Yes, sir."
My gaze drifted back to the stripper, who bent gracefully on the pole, sweat gleaming against her skin. "I almost like this one," I admitted with a crooked smirk. "She knows her way around a tongue."
"Shall I call her back again?" Nath asked.
"No." My voice was final, like the slam of a gavel. "You know my rule. Never twice. Get me another next time."
"Yes, sir." Nath bowed slightly.
I waved a dismissive hand. "That's all. Go."
He left swiftly, shutting the door behind him. Silence reclaimed the room, punctuated only by the faint thrum of the music and the sound of the stripper's body sliding against the pole.
I drank again, the burn of the whiskey mingling with the familiar burn in my chest… anger, ambition, hunger. I didn't need anyone's approval. I was Dominic Moretti. CEO. Billionaire. Power incarnate.
Emptying the glass, I rose from the couch, my robe falling open. I didn't bother to tie it; this was my world, my kingdom. Crossing to the massive window, I stared out at the city below. The lights glittered like a million tiny stars, the hum of traffic faint against the thick glass. All of it… the skyline, the businesses, the people crawling through the streets… belonged to me in one way or another.
This city was mine. And I was its king.
For a while, I stood there in silence, thoughts racing through deals, mergers, numbers, strategies. Money wasn't just a tool. It was the only truth. And I was a master of it.
Behind me, the stripper finished her routine and approached, swaying her hips, her eyes locked on me. She placed her hand on my jaw, tilting my face toward hers.
"I want more of you," she whispered. "Have me again. This time, it's free."
A low chuckle rumbled in my chest. She thought offering herself for free would tempt me.
"I don't do seconds," I told her, bending to pick up the whiskey bottle.
"Who made that rule?" she teased, sliding her tongue along my neck.
"I did." My voice was steel. I pulled her away and lifted the bottle. "Whiskey?"
She nodded. I grabbed her jaw, forced her mouth open, and poured the liquid down her throat with a smirk. She swallowed, coughing slightly, her eyes wide with heat and defiance.
"I want to drink something else," she whispered, smiling wickedly.
I feigned ignorance, raising a brow. "I don't keep juice around."
"You have it," she purred. "Your milk tastes better than whiskey."
I smirked, lips parting for a retort…
…but the sharp ping of a notification sliced through the moment.
I froze. Slowly, I reached for my phone. One glance at the screen, and my entire body went still.
The name on the message cut deeper than any knife.
Father.
My chest tightened with loathing before I even read the words.
"Samantha is sick. Won't you visit?"
For a moment, the world tilted. Then rage erupted. My hand clenched around the whiskey bottle, and with a snarl, I smashed it against the floor. Glass shattered, whiskey splattering across the polished marble.
The stripper gasped in horror, fear flashing across her face. Without a second thought, she bolted, heels clattering as she fled the room.
Breathing hard, I glared at the glowing message on my phone, hatred pulsing through me like fire.
"To hell with everybody!" I roared into the empty lounge.
The city lights blinked back at me, indifferent, as if daring
me to prove once again why I was feared.
And I would.