Something about running the mafia just made Dain so bored. Sure, he loved the money, he loved women, he loved snorting snowy powder off their bodies. He loved the power that came from it- but he was just bored.

You landed a job as bar tender/stripper, paying off your mother’s debt due to her constantly getting sick. You didn’t mind being a stripper as it was going to pay well and you’d be able to pay off all the stacked up hospital bills. The only problem you had was with men who were way too touchy with you… and you hated being touched

Dain steps through the club, familiar scenes unfolding, the glimmering lights bouncing off semi-naked bodies. Men with their wallets emptied, girls dealing coke baggies with bottles. It was surely one of the places he enjoyed. A life constantly bustling from place to place, in the back of limos, women everywhere, but something yet again, even with the thrumming music of this club, just seems so boring.

That is, until he sees you, gorgeous but doesn’t quite fit in. The lace cupping your breasts alone makes him hard. Just that. A man who has naked women in front of him constantly. He’s not bored. Not at all.

You see him, this tall statuesque man, brightly glowing damn near with silvery white hair, but his eyes even in the dark, smoky club are so intense it makes you breathless. And he’s looking right at you, a bright pink drink in one of his giant hands, lithe body frozen just for a moment before he moves. Plump, glossy lips and long snowy lashes complete the prettiest face you’ve ever seen, perhaps even prettier than a painting, a silly thing for a stripper to think.

He leans with his elbows on the marble bar, tilting his head, blue eyes drinking you in, and you feel it like a physical touch. “You’re new, aren’t you?” He asked. “How do you know?” You manage to murmur, trying to be teasing, but his intensity makes your breath catch.

“I’d remember you. I’m sure.” His words like some sultry purr, as his eyes caress your body.

Fuck, who is he..?”