Page 3 of Shared Obsession

I raise a brow, unfazed. “Two hundred for an hour. Let’s go, babe.”

He doesn’t hesitate—just hands over the cash. Neither do I. I take him by the hand, leading him to the back, feeling the buzz of anticipation in my veins. For the first time all night, I wonder who’s really in control.

Alexander

The second I saw her on that stage, it was like a punch to the gut—instant want, mixed with a surge of jealousy so sharp it almost hurt, and I had no right. Every move she made, every sway of her hips, was meant for the crowd, but it felt like a challenge aimed at me. I want her—God, I fucking want her—but watching those drunk idiots ogle her, laughing and tossing cash, made my blood boil. She’s been claimed. She just doesn’t know it yet.

When our eyes met, it felt like a dare. I crossed the room, ignoring the noise, not caring if I looked desperate. I wanted her to see me—not just another guy. When I reached her, I kept my voice low: “Dance for me.” No question, just certainty. She took my hand, and electricity snapped between us. The private room was dim, the door shutting out the rest of the world.

She slips into her performer’s mask, but her eyes are sharp as she purrs, “What can I do for you, handsome?”

I settle on the couch, legs spread, and motion for her to join me. “Sit.” She does. She starts to reach for her top, but I catch her wrist—gentle, but insistent. “I didn’t pay for that kind of show.”

She blinks, thrown. “Then what did you pay for?”

“My curiosity,” I say, letting my thumb circle her wrist. “You. I wanted to talk to you. The real you. Or as close as you’ll let me.”

She eyes me, lips twitching. “That’s dangerous in here. You sure you’re not just another guy with a fantasy?”

I grin. “Is that what I look like?”

She laughs. “You look like trouble. Or maybe someone who’s used to getting what he wants.”

“Not always,” I admit. “But I know what I want right now.”

She arches a brow. “And what’s that?”

“Conversation. Maybe your real laugh. You don’t have to take your clothes off for that.”

She surprises me with a genuine smile. “So you want small talk in a strip club?”

“I want to know if your favorite color is actually pink, or if that’s just for work.”

She snorts. “Pink’s for tips. My real favorite is green. The color of money, obviously.”

I laugh. “Smart.”

She relaxes a little, stretching her legs beside me. “What about you? What’s your vice?”

“Coffee. Bad hours. And lately, you.”

That earns me a playful shove. “That’s a line.”

I hold my hands up. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “I’ll give you this—you’re not boring.”

“Neither are you.” I let my hand rest on her thigh, needing to memorize the feel of her. “You’re electric, Ayla.”

She laughs, a little breathless. “Watch it, Alex. You say things like that, I might drop my guard.”

I lean in, voice low. “I want you to. I want to know you—not just the act.”

She holds my gaze, vulnerable for a heartbeat, then masks it with a smirk. “Careful what you wish for.”

Desire burns in my chest, slow and insistent, but so does something else—the urge to protect, to claim. I don’t just want her. I want everyone to know she’s with me.

“I’d buy you a drink after your shift,” I say, voice rough. “But honestly, I’d rather skip to the part where you’re mine.”