Addicted 2 Moni

In the Lion's Lair

Diamond POV Continued

<Same day - 7:48 PM>

I was expecting the elevator to open up to a hallway or some guarded ass door, but no—this shit opened directly into his space. His lair. And damn, it looked nothing like I imagined.

Everything about it screamed power. Dark royal blues, smooth black finishes, and sleek dark greys covered every surface. It looked like a penthouse carved into the bones of an old warehouse. The air smelled like money and leather. Definitely not what you expect when someone tells you you're walking into a gangster's crib.

The floors glowed under the lighting. A long bar sat with high-back stools that looked custom-made. To the side, a mini movie theater with deep leather seats and thick curtains—a whole vibe. He had style. Or at least money and the right taste to hire someone with it.

I walked slowly around the space, fingers brushing against surfaces. Everything was cold, polished, expensive. I passed through the kitchen—royal blue cabinets and charcoal-grey counters. I dragged my fingers across the marble island.

"This some 'Goodfellas' shit," I mumbled.

Down a hallway, I pushed open a door and my jaw damn near dropped. The bed had to be custom—huge, low to the ground, but wide as hell. It looked like it could fit a whole damn NFL team.

The bathroom? A dream. Water jets, black tile, rainfall showerhead, and a built-in bench. A spa for real. I twirled around once, catching myself smiling before I snapped back into reality.

A clink echoed from the kitchen.

I made my way back toward the sound, heels clicking softly on the marble. As I turned the corner, I saw him.

Anthony.

He stood shirtless, back to me, drinking something dark from a glass. A massive tattooed skull took up the real estate of his entire back, moving and flexing with every breath. His muscles rolled like waves beneath the ink. I watched his arm lift, shoulder flexing. My mouth went dry.

He turned around.

"You hungry, Diamond?" His voice was deep, calm, rich like a threat wrapped in silk.

"Diamond," he said again, bringing my eyes to his.

"No. I'm not hungry," I managed.

He looked me over with slow intent, nodding like I was something he'd ordered and was satisfied with.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked, keeping my voice even.

He finished his drink, eyes never leaving mine, and walked toward me.

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No. Of course not."

"Good. Take that wig off."

I paused for a second, then slowly peeled it off, letting my curls tumble down. He stepped in, curling a strand of my hair around his finger.

"Yeah. That's more like it. Natural. Sexy."

I held his eyes. "Thank you."

"You new to this. Rule one—shoes off at the door. You got that?"

"Yes."

He stared.

I blinked. Oh.

I turned and walked to the door to kick off my heels. When I turned back, he was leaning against the back of the couch, watching me.

I walked back, out of habit, tiptoeing on the balls of my feet.

He laughed.

"Why you walking like that, ma'am?"

I glanced down, realizing I was on my toes again.

"Old habit. I never liked the feeling of floors."

"It's cute. Helps with dancing?"

"Actually, yeah. Used to do ballet."

He raised a brow. "You still dance?"

"Nah. Had to stop. My mom couldn't afford it, not with my little brother's hospital bills. He has Down syndrome."

"You tired?"

"Not really."

He turned and led me toward the bedroom.

"Come on then."

Inside, he picked up a remote. The lights dimmed, and music started. A pole descended from the ceiling in the center of the room like some luxury strip club fantasy.

He sat on the bed, leaned back.

"Dance for me."

That command alone sent a shiver through me.

I walked into the music. My body started swaying to the beat as I slowly peeled off the chain top and let it drop. I moved closer to the pole, hips rolling with control.

Gripping it with one hand, I spun, eyes locked on his. The mirrored ceiling reflected everything—my arch, my hair, his face staring up. I climbed, wrapping my thighs around the cold steel, flipping upside down.

"What made you come here?" he asked.

"My brother. I need the money."

I spiraled downward, soft and slow, until I landed in a split. His eyes were glued to every move.

He had one hand inside his shorts.

I bent forward, shaking my ass to the beat.

"What made you choose me?" I purred.

He leaned forward slightly. "You remind me of someone."

I slid down the pole, teasing the string of my thong. Turned to face him.

"I was told I'm off-limits. Why?"

"Because you're mine," he said, eyes dark.

"So you can fuck whoever... but I can't?"

"You can have whatever you want. Except that. That's mine."

I stepped off the stage, walking toward the bed.

"Any other rules?"

He licked his lips. "Don't leave without permission. Other than that, I don't care what you do."

I crawled onto the bed, slowly, deliberately, straddling his lap. I felt him—thick, hard, pulsing through his shorts.

"Where do I sleep?"

"Right here with me. Problem?"

"No. It's beautiful here."

I ground against him. He stayed perfectly still, testing me, controlling himself.

"Why me?"

He sat up and grabbed my throat—not hard, but firm. I gasped, and he smirked.

"Because you were brave enough to look me in the eye."

I was wet.

This man might be the devil, but God help me, I wanted to dance in hell.