A Touch of Sin |18+|

01

ALANI

The lights dimmed into a red hue, casting shadows on the floor of the club. Sensual music played softly in the background, joined by the tapping of a strippers heels as she stepped onto the stage.

She was beautiful—dressed in a flimsy and translucent material, covering a body that I could only dream to have. She had caught the attention of every spectator. Mine included.

All pairs of eyes were on the captivating woman. All—except one.

This particular nightclub was located in the industrial part of town and filled with questionable characters. Newcomers weren't frequent.

The man currently looking at me was definitely not a regular.

I raised my head, locking eyes with the stranger before averting my gaze back to the woman. He had the body of a fighter. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos on his strong forearms. The man was leaning on the railing, both of his hands wrapped around a clear drink. Even though his face was partially hidden by the dark shadows, I could tell that he was handsome.

And he looked like he wanted something from me.

After a few moments of enjoying the dance, and an extra few sips of my cognac—I had forgotten about the stranger. Until the music stopped and I sensed his presence before I saw him. I didn't like the fact that I didn't see him coming.

He had stealth and he was there, a mere foot away. I was used to being approached by men, but not the type of man who looked the way he did.

He was better looking up close. The finest fucking man I've ever seen. His eyes were dark, and his tattoos were darker. Intricate patterns ran down his neck, all the way to his fingers wrapped around the clear glass. The ring on his index tapped the glass as he sat down next to me, his arm spreading out to lay on the backrest of the sofa as he made himself comfortably.

Bold. I liked it.

I turned my body to him, crossing one leg over the other. His eyes dropped down to me thighs, taking in the sight of the tattoo on my skin as a smirk formed on his lips. I could tell that he liked what he saw, and he liked it even more when I shifted closer to him.

I took his wrist, guiding his hand to my face. He watched me carefully, not taking his eyes off me. Just as I thought.

"Water?" I asked, retreating my hand.

He wasn't acting out on drunken confidence. He was sober, clear-headed and the agenda on his face was loud and clear.

"I don't like drinking," he said, his voice deep and I wasn't expecting the accent. Italian.

A chill adorned my skin, and it wasn't just because of how good he sounded. He had power radiating off him, unlike anything that I've felt before. His knuckles were marked by scars, but covered in black ink. His hands were steady, too steady to be considered normal. The stranger was trained – in what? I had no clue.

"Me too," I replied, taking a sip of my cognac. He smiled at me, showing me the deep dimple on his cheek. The innocent little dent was childlike, something that I didn't expect on a man built like him.

"What do you want?" I asked, deciding to skip all the formalities. I reached over, setting my glass onto the table.

"I think you know," he whispered lowly, his eyes darting between mine and my lips. The stranger raised his hand, lifting it to stoke my cheek with his knuckles. His eyes were lit with amusement, knowing that I was slowly falling into his trap.