Den Of Desires

The bass thrums through the walls like a heartbeat, pulsing with raw desire. Red and black lights flicker, illuminating bodies lost in pleasure.

"Welcome to the Den of Desires."

A place where fantasy meets forbidden pleasure.

At first, my feet refuse to move from the entrance, but I push forward, taking in the people around me.

On the left side of the club, a woman lies naked, tied, and blindfolded, her body trembling as a man holds a vibrator to her clit. She cries out, grinding against it.

Next to her, a glass-enclosed stage holds two men standing while a woman kneels between them. She takes one of them into her mouth, stroking the other, then switches.

To the right, another glass reveals a woman bent over, her hands pressed against the glass as if gripping for dear life. A man pounds into her from behind, her hair clinging to her sweat-dampened face.

Everywhere I turn, acts of raw sexual hunger play out. Over the music, the sounds of pleasure echo-the moans, the cries, the slapping of skin.

A week ago, I would've sworn on heaven and earth never to step foot in a place like this. But now? I have no choice.

I keep my head down, trying to make myself small and invisible-but of course, life never goes the way I want it to.

"You look lost." A man steps in front of me.

"No, I'm good, thank you," I say quickly, sidestepping him.

"Come on, I can show you around. No need to be scared." He moves closer.

I raise my hand, waving behind him as if signaling to someone. When he turns to look, I slip past him-only to collide with a hard chest.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I didn't see you."

I step back and look up into a set of piercing gray eyes. Broad shoulders. A black button-down shirt clinging to him. Neatly styled hair, and a discreet earpiece tucked into his ear-like some kind of NIS agents.

He looks like a... wait!

Is that...piercings? -nose and ears- oh my God he's soo hot...

...and those tattoos? I could just...

Not now, Nina!

"How old are you?" he demands, voice cool and deep.

"I'm 23. They checked my ID at the entrance."

"Show me," he orders, like he doesn't believe a word I just said.

Sighing, I reach into my bag and pull out my ID, handing it to him. He glances between me and the card, his jaw tightening slightly.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, crossing my arms. It's not like I gave him a fake ID.

"Yes." His gaze hardens.

"What's wrong?"

"You don't belong here," he states, like it's the simplest thing in the world.

I snatch my ID back, stuffing it into my bag. "What do you mean I don't belong here?"

His eyes trail over me, from head to toe.

Okay, fine. Maybe I don't exactly fit in.

My jeans, sweater, and sneakers scream amateur in a den of professionals. Every other woman here-whether she has a cock in her mouth, ass, or between her legs... even the servers-are either naked or in lacy lingerie. I'm the only woman fully covered.

Still, I lift my chin. "I'm here to speak with someone."

"Who?"

"Matteo Moretti."

His body tenses for a split second before he mutters, "You don't want to see him."

"Yes, I do."

"You should turn around and leave, princess. You don't belong here."

"Stop saying that."

"But you don't." He leans in closer, voice low. "You should run while you can, princess."

Despite the knot forming in my stomach, I square my shoulders. "I don't have a choice."

He exhales, eyes scanning me again.

"You really think Matteo's going to help you?"

"I have to try."

After a long pause, he exhales. "This way."

I follow him past the main area, down a hallway. At the end of the hall, we stop at a door marked VIP.

Before opening, he glances back. "You sure you want this?"

"Yes."

He pushes the door open and steps aside so I can enter.

Inside, a stripper pole stands in the center of the dimly lit room. A woman grinds between two naked men, their bodies slick with sweat.

In the far corner, a man lounges in an armchair, a glass of liquor in hand. His icy gaze flicks lazily toward the performers.

One man lifts the woman, burying his face between her legs while the other drops to his knees, taking the first man's cock into his mouth. Moans and wet suction fill the room.

I tear my eyes away from the scene and look directly at him-Matteo Moretti.

"What do we have here?" he asks, lips curling into a smirk as he rises from his seat. His eyes rake over me, undressing me with a single look. They're gray with a touch of blue, making them sharper.

"She says she wants to speak with you," the man beside me mutters.

I glance over-and finally, the dots connect.

The eyes. The same jawline. The same tattoo. The same piercing.

"Wait," I breathe. "You're-"

"This is my twin brother," Matteo cuts in smoothly. "Dante Moretti."

"Not identical," Dante says dryly.

Looking at the two now, I see the difference in their eyes-where Matteo has blue-gray eyes, Dante has dark gray ones.

"She says she wants to speak with you," Dante says again, and Matteo steps forward, still sipping his drink. "Tell me, dolce peccato (sweet sin) to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Words vanish from my brain. My tongue feels heavy. "I..."

Why is it so damn hard to form a simple sentence?

"I need money. Stella sent me," I blurt out.

The fuck!

Matteo raises his glass. "And what is someone like you doing with a whore?"

I flinch at the word but steady myself. "Stella is my friend. I trust her."

Stella and I met at a café years ago after a mix-up with our coffee orders. One small interaction turned into exchanging numbers, then hanging out, then five years of friendship. I always sensed something off about her, but I never questioned it.

Everyone has a past... right?

Matteo watches me for a moment. "Step into my office." He turns toward a staircase.

He ascends the stairs, holding open a door marked THE MORETTI'S.

I hesitate before following him, my hands gripping the hem of my sweater.

Matteo holds the door, not taking his eyes off me.

"I'll leave you to it, brother," Dante says, going through the door we came in from.

With a slight nod from Matteo, he closes the door after me.

We're alone.

Matteo moves behind a sleek mahogany desk, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt as he leans back.

"What's your name?"

"Nina Bianchi."

"You want money," he says. "How much?"

"One million dollars."

He hums, swirling the liquor in his glass. "Not much."

To him, maybe-but to me? It's a fortune. A number so high I'd never reach it in a month, no matter how many shifts I pick up. But my mother's hospital bills won't wait. I need this money.

"And how do you plan on paying me back?" he asks, studying me.

"I have a job," I say quickly. "I'm a waitress. If I work three shifts a day, including weekends, I can pay you back in a year."

"What do you need the money for?"

"Does it matter? Do I have to answer?"

"If you're asking me for a million dollars, yes."

I exhale, lowering my voice. "My mother's medical bills."

His expression shifts slightly. "Are you like Stella?"

"No. I don't know why you called her a whore, but I can be trusted."

His lips twitch with amusement. "I don't trust anyone, dolce peccato. And you should learn that."

"Please," I whisper. "I have nowhere else to go."

His smirk fades.

"I don't give my money to strangers." He leans forward, fingers tapping the rim of his glass. "But... if you sign a contract with me, I might reconsider."

📌 Author's Note

Hey, lovelies! Just a quick heads-up 💌

The Den of Desires is currently undergoing re-editing and polishing-even as chapters are being uploaded. So if you notice changes or updates along the way, don't worry! I'm just making the story even better for you 😘

Thank you for reading, supporting, and being patient with me.

Your love means the world 💋