The Billionaire And The Stripper. ARI LEVINSON

Chapter Eight

ARI

Ari leaned back into the plush leather couch, the weight of the glass of whiskey resting in his hand as he surveyed the room he'd had custom-built. It was a masterpiece—dim lighting, velvet curtains, a sound system carefully designed to create the perfect atmosphere, and mirrors placed strategically to reflect every angle. It was far more luxurious than anything you'd known at the club, meticulously curated to be a sanctuary for both.

He swirled the whiskey in his glass, the amber liquid catching the soft light as he took a slow sip, feeling the burn slide down his throat. The room was silent, save for the occasional ticking of the clock on the wall. He glanced at it, a small frown creasing his forehead. The car was on its way to pick you up, but time seemed to crawl. He had made this arrangement and structured every detail with precision and control, but at this moment, all he could think about was you.

Ari's fingers tightened around the glass as he sighed, his patience thinning. He wasn't a man who waited. Not for anyone, not for anything. But tonight was different. He needed to see you. To watch you move, just for him. No distractions, no interruptions. Just you, in this space he had created.

He heard the soft hum of the car pulling up outside before the subtle shift in the atmosphere reached him. His pulse quickened, though his expression remained as unreadable as ever. The driver would escort you in soon, through the private entrance he'd arranged. This wasn't just any night. It was the first night of the deal you made, and in some strange way, it felt significant.

The door opened with a soft click, and you stepped inside, hesitating for a brief moment, your gaze sweeping over the lavish space before settling on him, sitting there like some dark king on his throne. His eyes locked onto yours, an intensity in them that made you falter.

Ari watched her step inside the room, his eyes narrowing as Y/N took in her surroundings. The space had been built for her, every detail meticulously arranged to create an atmosphere of control and intimacy. The stage, small and subtly illuminated, drew her in, and he could see the shift in her as she realized just how different this was from the club. There was no crowd, no noise—just the two of them, alone.

He didn't speak as she hesitated, waiting for her to move. Instead, he rose from his seat, his footsteps silent on the polished floor. With a flick of his wrist, he turned on the music, a slow, hypnotic rhythm that filled the room. He returned to his seat, sinking back into the leather, his whiskey cradled in one hand, eyes never leaving yours.

Ari didn't need to speak. The rules were already clear. This was why you were here.

He watched you walk toward the stage, movements measured, uncertain. There was no urgency, just a quiet understanding of what was expected. He could sense your nerves, but you pushed them down, your body beginning to move as the music swelled.

As you started to dance, his grip tightened on the glass. Your movements were slow, and with each shift of your body, Ari's eyes followed, sharp and unblinking. There was no distraction here, nothing to pull his focus from you. He didn't need to demand attention—you were giving it freely, and it was all for him.

He watched every curve, every sway, studying you as if you were a puzzle he was determined to solve. Your body flowed with the music, graceful and fluid, and he knew you were aware of his gaze, of the power it held.

He sipped his whiskey, feeling the burn slide down his throat, but his attention never wavered. You glanced at him, just for a moment, but that was all he needed. He could see it—the brief flicker of uncertainty, the quick dart of your eyes before forcing yourself to focus back on the dance. It made him smirk, the slightest hint of satisfaction curling at the edge of his lips.

You were trying so hard to stay in control, to not let his presence shake you. But he knew better. The room was thick with tension, but it wasn't the kind that needed words.

He liked watching you like this—no pretense, no façade. Just you, dancing for him. Only for him.

He swirled the whiskey in his glass, savoring the moment, knowing this was only the beginning. And as you moved across the stage, he knew you were his, even if you hadn't fully realized it yet.

Author's Note: What do you think about this scene? Let me know your thoughts on this chapter!!!!! Mistakes to be corrected later. Thank you so much for reading and voting! Love you all! Chapter dedicated to jmags12 I hope you like it!