Chapter 3 Sienna had rules.

They weren't written down, but they were carved into her bones like scripture.

Rules help her keep the hunger from turning into madness.

Rules kept her body hers; No sleepovers. Never lie about what you want.

Pay for it if you have to. No shame. No strings whatsoever.

That morning, she woke alone - again - with her thighs clenched and her sheets soaked in sweat. Her body ached in ways no toy could fix. She yawned for a touch.

Oh,she yawns for a strong hand to handle her.

It was like a fever. Not one that broke with rest, but one that pricked at her skin until it was satisfied.

Sometimes she could ignore it. Breathe through the heat. Cold shower. Breathe again. Barely.

But today, the fire didn't wait for nightfall. So she used her toys yet again. But it was nothing compared to what she needs.

By noon, it had spread between her ribs.

She dressed in her most neutral armor - jeans, hoodie up, no makeup, sunglasses on. Not Queen Sin today. Just a woman in desperate need of release.

She didn't want to flirt. Didn't have room for seduction, neither does she want to perform.

She just wants to take.

Or rather, she wanted to be taken. Quietly. Safely. Without expectations.

She had made arrangements already.

She picked the hotel herself - a quiet spot south of downtown where no one looked too closely. The man she called went by the name Timothy. He looks like he was in his mid 30s, tattooed, quiet. He never talked too much. Never tried to ask for her real name. She knew him from Velvet Smoke and has once had a thing with him. Or two, maybe.

They had an arrangement.

She paid. He showed up.

He didn't touch unless she said.

He didn't stay unless invited.

Perfect.

The knock came twenty minutes after she checked in.

She let him in without a word, and he paused only a second - his eyes tracking her hoodie, her lips. He noticed how stiff she was.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

She nodded. Pulled the hoodie and jean off.

Underneath, she wore nothing.

Just bare skin and unspoken need.

The encounter was quick, physical, muted. She didn't want to talk. Didn't need eye contact. She needed his hands on her hips. Needed his weight. Needed the kind of pressure that reminded her she had a body.

He worked her body, each hip thrust had weight and produced a slap sound, she was very wet.

She didn't moan. Didn't fake anything.

She came - once - and then told him to stop.

Timothy nodded. Cleaned up. Left the envelope on the nightstand unopened.

And just like that, he was gone.

Sienna lay on the bed for five full minutes, staring at the ceiling again.

Was she satisfied?

Maybe.

But not whole.

She rarely was.

An hour later, after fixing herself at the hotel, she was back at Velvet Smoke, dressing in the mirror under red lights, her lashes were long, her lips were painted blood-dark. The club would open in thirty, and she had to dance like the world wanted her. Like she wanted herself. This was her job and she loves it.

She stared at her reflection and whispered under her breath:

"You're fine. You're always fine."

"Liar," said a familiar voice from behind her.

Sienna turned. Cassie stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a teasing smirk on her glossed lips. Tiny, curvy, honey-brown skin and wild curls - Cassie looked like a fantasy, but talked like a therapist with a dirty mouth.

She wore a silver robe that said "Bite Me" on the back and sipped a green smoothie like it was wine.

Sienna didn't smile, but her tension eased a little. Cassie had that effect.

The only one who got close... and never too close.

Cassie walked in and plopped down on the sofa across from her.

"You look... rough," she said gently.

"I'm always rough."

"You're usually rough and hot. Tonight you're just rough."

A pause. "Did you eat anything today?"

"Wine."

"That's not food."

"Tell that to the French."

Cassie didn't say a word.

She never asked why Sienna disappeared on random mornings or came back looking like she'd been through a war. She never questioned the men - or the lack of them.

But she noticed.

Cassie noticed everything.

"Wanna talk?" she asked.

Sienna shook her head.

Cassie stood and walked over. Kissed her cheek lightly, then whispered:

"When you're ready, I'm here, always."

Then she left.

Sienna sat still a moment longer, watching the mirror.

She touched her cheek where Cassie's lips had landed. The softness startled her.

True affection was like cold water to her. And a little dangerous.

Later, while the bass thumped and the lights swirled, Sienna danced her first set like fire again. Back in her element. Back in control.

After her set, she left the stage to the bar to get a drink when her eyes flicked toward the far wall - and stopped.

He was there.

Again.

The man in the dark suit. The one from across the street. From the night before. From something deeper than coincidence.

Only today,he was in a blue perfectly fitted suit.

He was watching her, again.

Not with hunger like other men were looking at her.

Not politely.

He was looking at her curiously.

Like he was reading a book she didn't know she'd written.

Their eyes locked. He had beautiful blue eyes and the line of his lips was perfect.

Sienna's chest tightened.

One second. Two. Three.

He finished the remaining of his drink in one gulp, and then - he stood and walked away.

Again.

She blinked.

What the hell?

No one walked away from her. Not without taking something first.

But this stranger had walked away twice.

He obviously wanted something; her. But he hadn't even spoken to her yet.

Hadn't asked for a dance. Hadn't stared at her ass. Hadn't followed her backstage.

He just... looked.

Like he saw everything she'd worked so hard to bury.

Sienna turned back to the bar. Downed a shot.

Ignored the shaking in her hands.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe it was everything.