Chapter 24 Putting On A Show Savannah The hostess ushered us out of the booth where we were previously seated, past soundproofed walls and loud moans. Past the sound of whips and the rattling of chains. Past the rough grunts and painful cries of people living out their erotic fantasies. Until we stopped in front of a door. Room 6. Roman’s arm was still around my waist, gripping. I could feel how tense he was. The hostess ushered us in and shut the door. The silence in the room was deafening. It almost felt like a shooting range. It was soundproofed to mask a battle. And tastefully furnished for wealthy men with taboo fantasies. Black velvet walls. Gold trim. Crystal lights that dripped from the ceiling like frozen rain. The scent of expensive perfume, leather, and a whisper of something darker clung to the air. Everything pulsed with quiet decadence. The kind of place that made men lie and women become legends. The music was low, almost seductive. Not loud enough to drown conversations—just enough to stretch silence and put you in the mood. There were chaise lounge seats and sofas. Dean and Chloe made themselves comfortable on one, whispering things to each other. Their eyes trained on one place. The stage. An elevated platform with a spotlight fixed on it. What is going on? “We’re ready for your performance, Miss.” Roman and I turned to see the hostess behind us. I blinked. “I’m sorry?” Roman’s arm stiffened around me. Chloe's smile stretched tighter. Dean looked like he was barely holding in a laugh. His shirt was half-undone. Chloe stepped forward, all innocence. “You didn’t think we’d let tonight end without a little surprise, did you? Consider this my bridal shower.” I knew it. The moment we stepped into the velvet-drenched lounge, I knew something was off. It wasn’t just the lighting—sultry and low, like secrets were supposed to be whispered here. Or the faint sound of sensual R&B pouring from hidden speakers. No, it was Chloe’s smile. Too sweet. Too rehearsed. Too fucking proud of herself. Roman turned toward her slowly, his posture telling me he was one second away from snapping her slender neck. “What kind of surprise?” She beamed. “A show. Savannah’s the headliner. Surprise!” For a second, the air stopped moving. The room tilted. And then it clicked. Chloe planned this. She wanted to humiliate me. Strip me bare in front of them. Roman. Dean. Herself. Because the poolside wasn’t enough. Because I looked better than her. Because people were finally watching me instead of her. She wanted me to embarrass myself in front of my fiancé and hers. She wanted me to dance because she knew it'd remind me of him. She knew I hadn't danced in so long, so she was trying to reopen old wounds. She thought I’d fall apart. That I’d see him in the lights, in the bass, in the way the music curled around my hips. But I wasn’t going to be dancing for him. I was dancing for me. For vengeance. I glanced at Roman. His face was unreadable—but his jaw flexed. His fingers curled into fists. My stomach churned. Embarrassment hit like a wave. But something deeper rose to the surface. Something hot. Sharp. Savage. Game on, bitch. I turned to the hostess, my voice calm. Dangerous. “Where can I change?” The Hostess smiled, “Right this way, ma'am.” “Savannah…” Roman's tone was warning. I ignored him. Chloe’s smugness faltered. “You’re not actually doing this.” I smiled slowly. “Oh, I’m doing it. I'll give you a show of a lifetime.” ~~~~~~~~~ The outfit she picked to disgrace me with was something only the boldest woman on the planet could wear. Red lace and satin with a lace mask to go with it. Corset-style top, strappy sides. A thong that barely existed. Fishnet stockings and a garter. Black stilettos with red soles.Jokes on her. I looked hot. I stepped out of the dressing room and into dim lights and silence. Velvet chairs lined the curved wall and in the center of the room sat a single chair. Empty. Roman, Dean, and Chloe were already seated on a plush curved couch, their silhouettes carved out by the low amber lighting. A bottle of champagne rested in a silver bucket, sweating and untouched. Chloe was all teeth—smiling like she’d already won. Dean looked relaxed, his arm slung behind her. But his eyes were on me. So were Roman’s. Except his weren’t greedy. They were… dangerous. Heavy. A storm brewing. Then the music started. Sultry. Dark. Heavy bass and pure sex. Something about rolling up the partition. Dean blinked like he wasn’t sure I was real. Leaning forward on his elbows to get a better view. Chloe stiffened. Mouth agape. Roman—Jesus. His legs spread. Hands gripped his thighs. Eyes black. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run a mile. But he didn’t move. Not a muscle. I made my way to the stage with the kind of walk you practice in dreams. Slow. Measured. Deliberate. Roman's jaw tensed. I dropped into a squat before the empty chair, spreading my thighs slow and wide as the lights narrowed in on me. My fingers trailed up my inner thigh, over the corset, then into my hair. I flipped it back with a snap of my neck and locked eyes with Roman. He wasn’t breathing. I smiled. Dean shifted, legs crossed, trying to hide how painfully aroused he was. Chloe’s nails dug into the armrest, her smile turning brittle. She faked a yawn to hide her rage. I rolled my hips once, then twice. The beat guided me. I moved like I wasn't made of bones—snaking around the chair, straddling it backward, leaning forward so my breasts practically kissed the top rail. I lowered myself into a squat, my legs spreading with a fluid grace that made Chloe's face twist in annoyance, Dean's breath hitch, and Roman's pupils darken with desire.I executed a flawless split, my body rolling with every beat. Rising smoothly, I sauntered to the chair, my fingers trailing along its edges as I hooked my leg over it and straddled the seat. All the while, my gaze remained locked on Roman. Dean squirmed in his seat, aroused and jealous. Roman sipped his drink, gripping the glass a little too tightly. His eyes burned with hunger. Dean muttered something under his breath. Chloe shifted uncomfortably. Roman’s knuckles whitened around his glass. He swallowed his drink without breaking eye contact. I dropped to all fours and crawled toward Roman. I rose to my feet, grasped his collar, and pulled him toward me. I stood before him and purred, “I need a volunteer,” Dean immediately leaned forward. Roman leaned back. I grinned. “Roman.” Roman smirked, discarded his drink, stood and followed my lead. Slowly. Calculated. Like a lion indulging his prey.I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him toward the empty chair. He let me. Silent. Watching me like I was the only thing he could see. He sat. Legs spread. I placed one heel-clad foot on his chest. "Behave," I whispered. He grinned, eyes dark. Then—deliberately—kissed my ankle. My skin heat up from the contact. I straddled him. The moment my body met his, I felt it. The hard line of him pressing against my core. My breath hitched. His hands instinctively gripped my thighs like he owned them. I moved. Slow. Grind. Circle. He exhaled through his nose, jaw clenched. My hands braced on his shoulders as I worked my hips in slow, maddening strokes. “You trying to kill me?” he rasped, voice low.I leaned in, brushing my lips near his ear. “Just putting on a show.” He laughed darkly, his grip tightening. I straightened and dragged my breasts across his face, slow and deliberate. He growled. Actually growled. His hands moved to my ass. A slow rub. Up and down. Then—smack. I jolted upright. Heat tore through me. I gasped, arching my back. His voice was low, almost reverent. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” I leaned back and dropped to the floor, straight into a perfect split between his spread legs. My hands on his thighs. His breath caught. We stared at each other. Nothing else existed. Then I rose, hooked my leg over the back of the chair. But he was quick. He caught it. And placed it over his shoulder then pressed a kiss to my inner thigh, still staring into my eyes. He picked me up like I was made of wool and dropped me on his thighs, straddling him. And the whole room vanished. “That’s enough,” I whispered, my breath ghosting over his lips. He didn’t move. “Right,” he murmured. “Just a performance.” But his hands stayed on my thighs. And mine stayed tangled in his hair.