Chapter 50

They decided to start with Room One—Velvet Noir.

After their ridiculous tour, the hotel gave them time to freshen up. They bathed separately, still laughing from the full-body restraint bed in Room Three. The luxurious marble bathrooms were separate but side-by-side, and Sienna locked herself in hers with a deep breath and a clean towel.

On the vanity sat a sealed black box labeled Velvet Noir Wardrobe. When she opened it, her soul briefly left her body.

"Oh god," she whispered.

Inside was the sluttiest costume she had ever seen: a sheer black corset with lace cutouts, thigh-high fishnets, and a pair of heels so high they might double as weapons. There was also a tiny leather choker and gloves that went up past the elbows.

"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, cheeks fully on fire.

But she put it on.

Standing in front of the mirror, she blushed harder than she had in years. Her hair was still damp, her skin warm from the bath—and the reflection staring back at her was somehow ridiculous and absurdly hot all at once.

"Oh my god, I'm a walking thirst trap, queen!" she whispered, fanning herself.

Just as she was trying to gather her dignity, she heard the door click. Cassian had returned to the room.

"Eyes closed!" she yelled.

"They are!" he called back.

She peeked through the curtain and nearly choked.

Cassian was standing in the room wearing a leather cowboy vest—and nothing else but matching chaps and briefs. A black hat sat crooked on his head.

Her jaw dropped. "What the hell are you wearing?!"

He shrugged innocently. "The outfit said 'Lone Rider.' What was I supposed to do? Disrespect the theme?"

Sienna was crying laughing. "You look like Magic Mike's distant cousin who got lost at a rodeo."

He posed. "My eyes are still closed. Are you ready?"

She giggled, her voice high. "Okay, on three. One... two... three."

He opened his eyes—and went completely still.

His mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.

"Holy—what—Sienna."

She tugged at the hem of the corset, cheeks flaming. "Don't say anything."

"No, no, no. I—can I cry? Is that allowed? Because you... this should be illegal."

His pupils were blown wide, and it was clear he was holding back something feral.

"Stop looking at me like you're going to eat me," she muttered.

"I'm trying," he choked. "I'm really trying. But your arms are in gloves. And your legs. And—"

"Focus!" she shouted.

"Right. Right. Game. Let's play the game."

She grinned, stepping toward the stripper pole in the center of the room. "Loser has to perform. Full dance."

He raised an eyebrow. "How are we deciding who loses?"

"Rock, paper, scissors," she said smugly.

He cracked his knuckles dramatically. "Prepare to witness greatness."

They squared off. One, two, three.

She threw scissors.

He threw paper.

Cassian groaned. "Noooo."

She bowed low. "To the pole, Cowboy."

He strutted over with exaggerated hips at first, throwing her a wink. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"I'm braced for secondhand embarrassment."

But the moment the music started—something bass-heavy and deliciously slow—Cassian dropped the joke.

He wrapped one hand around the pole. Rolled his hips. Dropped low. And then—dear god—he actually started moving like a man possessed.

Sienna's jaw dropped.

It was like someone flipped a switch from dorky boyfriend to professional fantasy. He twirled, ground, and even used the hat as a prop, dragging it down his chest before tossing it aside.

And then came her personal hell: his hands. Slow. Confident. Strong fingers trailing up the pole, gripping it low. One ran down his own chest, then up his thigh like a tease.

Sienna forgot how to breathe.

She shifted where she stood, heat pooling low in her stomach.

"Okay," she mumbled. "So. You win. I'm dead. Congratulations."

Cassian grinned and flexed one hand in front of her like he was about to cast a spell. "You know what your problem is?"

She narrowed her eyes, still breathless. "I'm too turned on to function?"

He laughed, stepping toward her with that sinful glint in his eye. "No. You have a hand kink and the universe blessed me with these."

He flexed again—slowly this time—then brought that same hand to her waist, dragging it up the side of her corset, all the way to the curve of her chest, before backing off at the last second.

She sucked in a sharp breath. "That's... illegal."

Cassian smirked. "You've been staring at them all night. Don't think I haven't noticed."

Then—because of course he did—he licked his palm.

Sienna made a strangled sound. "Cass."

He dragged that now wet hand down his abs, then flexed it again, slowly, fingers curling.

"I know what you want from me," he teased, low and gravelly.

She was practically vibrating. Watching him was like watching someone masturbate with clothes on. Her knees actually wobbled.

"Stop. Talking," she begged.

"But you love it," he whispered, drawing a line up her glove with one finger.

She whimpered. Loudly.

Cassian blinked, then laughed softly. "Holy shit. You're actually soaked, aren't you?"

She covered her face with her hands. "You are going to hell."

He leaned in, mouth at her ear. "Then drag me there, baby."

Without warning, she pushed him gently but firmly down into the nearby velvet seat, grinning like a devil in heels. "Oooh, you are not ready for this," she purred.

Cassian blinked. "Wait—what?"

She sashayed over to the speaker controls on the wall and changed the music to something slower, deeper, absolutely dripping with sex. The bass pulsed. The lights dimmed. The pole gleamed.

Cassian's mouth was halfway open. "Oh no. Oh yes."

She stepped up to the pole, wrapped a gloved hand around it, and began. The first spin was slow and teasing. She arched, turned, let her hair fall with purpose. Then came a twist and drop that had Cassian literally gripping the arms of the chair.

"You trained for this?" he gasped.

"Three courses last year," she said over her shoulder, swinging once more.

He made a strangled noise. "I love education."

But after the third routine—a body wave into a floor slide that turned more yoga than strip—Sienna collapsed in a heap and laughed breathlessly.

Cassian was still in the chair, completely stunned, breathing shallowly. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen. I'm not okay."

Sienna looked up through strands of fallen hair, her chest heaving, lips parted. Her cheeks were flushed, her skin glistening lightly under the moody lights—and she wasn't just catching her breath from the polework. Her thighs squeezed together instinctively, heat thrumming low, raw and electric.

"You like that?" she said, breathless but sultry, crawling toward him on all fours, her corset dangerously tight and her fishnets stretched over trembling legs.

Cassian's hands gripped the chair, knuckles white. "You're going to kill me," he muttered.

She rose onto her knees in front of him, dragging her gloved hands slowly up his thighs. "You wanted a show, Cowboy."

He groaned, head tipping back. "You're not real."

She laughed, then leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. "Oh, I'm very real. And you're going to be begging in five minutes."

Then she straddled him.

Cassian let out an audible, stunned breath as she settled into his lap with a slow, grinding roll of her hips. Her gloved hands slid over his shoulders, down his chest, teasing every ridge and line she knew drove him insane. Her body moved with sinful precision—part temptation, part punishment.

The music throbbed behind them, deep and pulsing, matching her rhythm.

Cassian's hands twitched, rising instinctively to grab her hips—

But she caught them midair, slapped them down gently onto the armrest. "No touching."

His jaw dropped. "You're killing me."

"I'm the rules," she whispered, eyes dark.

She rolled her hips again, slow and deep, while dragging her gloved fingertip down the center of his chest.

Cassian groaned, his hands clenching the seat.

"I hate you," he muttered, voice wrecked.

She grinned and leaned in to whisper, "Say that again when I'm done."

Cassian's body strained beneath her, hands clenched into fists on the armrest. He was breathing hard, muscles flexing under her touch, eyes glassy with desperation. His hips bucked slightly, involuntarily, chasing the friction.

She rolled her hips again, slower this time, grinding directly against him.

"Jesus," he gasped. "Let me touch you. Just—"

She leaned back just enough to give him a full view of her body. "No touching," she purred again. "Just watch."

He groaned, almost helplessly.

She leaned forward, letting her chest brush his briefly before standing with maddening slowness.

"You like my dance?" she whispered, walking backward toward the pole with that deliberate sway in her hips.

Cassian was barely holding it together. "Yeah. Yeah—fuck, I'm dying over here."

She grabbed the pole again, eyes locked on him as she dipped low into a spin, the movement now all fire and filth. Her legs wrapped high, body curving, lips parted in a sinful smile.

"You wanted dirty," she said, voice breathy and low, "so here's dirty."

She let herself slide down the pole in a slow drop, arching her back, letting one gloved hand trail between her thighs just for show. Cassian's breath hitched so loud it echoed.

He was wrecked.

And she was just getting started.