Alesia's POV.
I stared at him, completely speechless. I trusted Antonio, he couldn't do that to me. Yes, he may have avoided me a little when I danced, but he was only human. Jealousy came naturally to a man like him. And I was doing this—for us.
I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him, my husband wasn't like him but he beat me to it,
"Dance for me."
He said it like he'd just asked for more wine, casual, absolute, as if he hadn't detonated my entire world thirty seconds ago.
"What?"
He was already moving. One large hand closed around my wrist and pulled me up from the chair, the crimson silk swishing around my thighs. I stumbled after him through the open doors, past the flickering candles, into the bedroom that suddenly felt too small.
He released me in the middle of the rug and sat on the edge of the massive bed, legs spread wide, sleeves rolled high enough to show the ink curling over his forearms— my name still boldly written there. The city lights behind him painted him in silver and shadow, a king on his throne.
"Dance for me".
My heart slammed against my ribs. "I'm not—"
"Let's not test my patience any more tonight," he cut in. "You already used up your daily quota on the terrace. He tilted his head, voice lowering to something colder. "Or would you like me to call your husband?"
"No!"
The panic ripped out of me raw, immediate.
Jericho's lips lifted, pleased. Of course he was pleased. He'd pulled the right string and watched me jump like a marionette.
"Then dance."
The room shrank until there was only him and the space between us. My arms felt lead-heavy, my legs rooted to the floor. But the memory of Antonio's face, bruised and bleeding the night Jericho's men dragged him in, flashed behind my eyes.
I started to move.
Small, stiff sways at first, barely more than shifting my weight. The crimson silk clung to my skin, the slit riding higher with every reluctant roll of my hips. I kept my gaze on the floor, on the intricate pattern of the rug, anywhere but him.
"Look at me."
I couldn't.
"Alesia."
My eyes snapped up.
His stare pinned me harder than any hand ever could. Dark, hungry.
"Good," he murmured. "Again. Slower. Better make it good if you want us to end this early. I assure you, I can go all night".
I hated him. Hated the way my body obeyed before my mind caught up. Hated the heat crawling up my throat when I saw the way his gaze tracked every breath, every tremor.
I lifted my arms above my head, wrists crossed, and let my body undulate in one long, filthy wave: shoulders, ribs, stomach, hips. The silk clung, released, clung again. I turned slowly, giving him my back, letting the gown part until the fabric barely covered the curve of my ass. My hands slid down my sides, tracing every line he wasn't allowed to touch.
I looked over my shoulder, met his eyes, and sank until my palms brushed the rug. Then I rose again, spine rolling like I was riding something invisible and obscene.
The music was only in my head: the low, filthy bass from the club I'd danced in a thousand times to keep us alive. I let it take over, let muscle memory move me. Shoulders rolling, hips circling, fingers trailing down my sides because that's what paid the bills once upon a time.
Only now the only customer was the devil who owned me.
Jericho didn't move. Didn't speak again. Just watched, jaw tight, one hand resting on his thigh, the other curled into a fist against the mattress.
One second I was turning, the next my back hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of me.
My eyes flew open in shock and terror.
Jericho stood inches away, caging me in with his body.
I planted both hands on his chest instantly, pushing, shoving—anything to get space. "Get off—"
"You're harder to resist than I thought," he murmured, voice low, breath warm against my face.
And then his mouth was on mine.
I gasped into him, fists pounding his chest, nails raking. He didn't budge. If anything, he only pressed harder, one hand collaring the back of my neck, thumb forcing my jaw up so he could take more, deeper, until my head spun and my knees buckled.
With no other choice—I bit down, hard, copper flooding my tongue.
He grunted, the kiss instantly breaking. Before he could recover, my hand flew up on instinct, adrenaline taking over—
SLAP.
The sound cracked through the room like lightning.
His head snapped to the side. A red handprint bloomed across his cheek, bright and angry. Blood stained his lip.
"You—" My voice shook with fury and fear.
"—you fucking bastard!"
He stared at me, frozen, eyes wide with something between shock and disbelief. For one terrifying heartbeat I thought he would hit me, his hand twitched at his side, the same hand that had caged my throat seconds ago.
Instead, his jaw locked so hard I heard the click of teeth. A muscle jumped in his cheek beneath the fresh red print of my palm. Blood still glistened at the corner of his mouth.
He just snatched his jacket from the chair in one violent motion, the fabric ripping slightly at the seam, and stormed across the room. The door slammed behind him with force.