Damien
Midnight Obsession | Bad Intentions | Strip Club
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The moment I stepped through the club doors, the world shifted.
Bass rolled through the room hard enough to settle in my chest, colored lights swept across polished chrome poles and velvet booths, and the air carried the familiar mix of expensive liquor, perfume, and cash changing hands. It was the kind of place where everyone wanted to be seen.
My eyes skimmed over the crowd without much interest—until they landed on you.
You weren't on stage.
You were tucked into a VIP booth, a drink balanced between your fingers as someone across from you talked animatedly. You smiled politely, but your attention wasn't really there. Instead, your gaze wandered the room, quietly taking everything in, absentmindedly tracing the rim of your glass while the spectacle carried on around you.
Then your eyes met mine.
Just for a second.
Long enough for something in my chest to catch.
I've walked into places like this a hundred times. Beautiful women, loud music, money flowing like water—it was nothing new. But there was something about you. You carried yourself like you didn't need anyone's attention, like you were simply here on your own terms.
A faint smirk tugged at my lips.
Well... now I had a reason to stay.
I slipped my hands into my pockets and made my way farther into the club, unable to shake the feeling that tonight had just become a whole lot more interesting.