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Selling herself to Tyrone Grant was never planned. However as Celestina Irwine’s family is leading her towards huge debts she finds herself signing up a non-disclosure agreement for a few millions, one that demands her to be in the hands of Tyrone Grant for a year. What could be so energy draining about giving a man the pleasure he wants? Or so she thought. Tyrone Grant is anything but calm; he wants to unravel all of Celestina's dark desires, fulfill them as he shoves her down the abyss — his mind, and make her his muse to deify her. ════════════════ © March 2021, Sharyn Jael All rights reserved

Erotica / Romance
4.7 23 reviews
Age Rating:

Chapter 1


This book might be disturbing to some people. It contains extremely vulgar language, many explicit sexual scenes, and dark themes. If you’re not 18, I wouldn’t recommend you reading this.

This book will NOT glorify rape or abuse.

I have serious qualms with criticism, so you’re ALWAYS welcome to point out my mistakes. But if my grammar is all you can write a review about then hit a back button because this book is a rough draft.

You CAN shower the comment section with all your poetic profanity BUT DO NOT SPREAD HATE OR USE SLURS!

PS: Don’t worry, I don’t take shit to offense!

To my previous readers,
I’m so grateful to have you guys, thanks a million for reading this book too. This will be fast paced wild book; the plot is cliché and smut filled — yes, I’m being unapologetic about it. Please don’t expect unpredictable twists and emotional rollercoaster however I promise to deliver the usual dose of humor and stupid characters in a steamy package ;)

To my new readers,

Welcome and thank you for giving my book a chance. I just hope you'll not be disappointed.

With that said, let us hope you’ll enjoy this book.


White vapors of smoke danced in the air, swirling with arrays of vibrant red, acid green, blue, purple, and pink casting from lights that were socketed into roofs and walls. The stench of smoke, liquor, and sex enveloped us, the hard rock music blasted from the speakers bouncing within the walls, the intoxicating primal need to feel elated (which was denied in the cold streets outside the door) embracing us.

My eyes range over the semi-packed club to the tables and chairs littered around the hall, flanked by bar counters where an extensive range of glasses to drinks were set into the cabinets, then to the round stage which had spotlights creating weaving an interesting visual and a metallic pole running from the reflective floor to the roof, taking in the vibe and clientele of my new workplace.

If you could work here, that is.

Heaving a sigh, I made a quick scan of the women who were working; their postures, their facial expressions, and their clothes, to learn from them. My eyes widened and my mouth hung open when I found a stripper pulling the string of her bra before throwing it into the open air to reveal her breasts.

I’m so not doing this even if the constitutional federal republic USA suddenly becomes a monarchy.

Nope. Nopity.

“Don’t act so surprised, you’re not a virgin to nudity.” A hand thrust my jaw upwards before I glared at Rosaleigh, my best friend.

“Sue me for not having the same confidence.” I jabbed my elbow into my friend’s waist, only to bump into something soft.

“Ouch! Whore! Don’t hurt my breasts.” Rosie hissed, and I frowned, shifting my attention to her from the bills thrown at the stripper — so much money.

Concerned, I knitted my brows. “When did you become so short?”

“The audacity to call me short when you’re the one wearing a four-inch heel.” She let out an animalistic growl, the jab to her left breast finally taking its toll, and I rolled my eyes.

If it wasn’t Rosie’s idea to work in a strip club to make money quickly and handsomely, I probably would’ve been cleaning the wooden tables or the white tiles of the restaurant I used to work at. Having a mother who had fought and beat Leukemia and was now fighting against Glioblastoma had altered my life from normal standards.

Most twenty-year-old on a Friday night would be chilling in frat parties thrown by the rich kids of the sorority or fraternity, but I, Celestina Irwine had been trying to make the ends meet for almost half a decade now, sheering myself from all sorts of social life and left me with only two clowns as friends that went by names Rosaleigh and Milton.

Milton clapped his hands, interrupting our quarrel. “Ladies, we are here to support Celestina as she works here, not fight for the last cart in the Walmart.”

My lips curled into a grin. When I felt a gaze on me from my peripheral view, I turned towards the eyes only to find two men dressed in expensive suits seated on the couch discussing something, and I shrugged it off.

My eyes roved over the place, watching a stripper do a lap dance before three men who were seated on the couch. From what it looked like one of them placed a ten-dollar bill on her left ass cheek, then the stripper twerked her ass towards the right, then the man on the right side placed a twenty-dollar bill on her right ass cheek.

Before the stripper could reach back to take the bills from her ass cheeks, the man in the middle produced a credit card and swiped the card down the crack between her ass, leaving the stripper and me startled before he pulled the bills from her ass.

“Give back the money, asshóle!” The stripper, Caramel, screamed, glaring at the man.

“Why will we pay actual money for fake tits and nonexistent ass?” He sniggered, slapping the Caramel’s ass, causing the other two men to laugh.

As disgust surged within me, I snapped my neck away to find a pink-haired woman in front of me, craning her neck to meet my gaze as she glared at me, resting a hand on her black jeans-clad hip.

“Are you here to work or not?” Caith, the receptionist, arched a perfectly trimmed dark brow. Then her eyes shifted to Milton and Rosie as she muttered. “What are you two? Bridesmaids?”

Despite the nervousness in the pit of my stomach, anger flared within me, and I retorted with a sly smile.

“Yeah, if you spread the red carpet, I can walk down the aisle.”

You don’t make fun of Celestina’s clowns, only she may do that.

“Show yourself to the green room and get dressed, vile girl.” She sneered before strolling towards the reception.

Adjusting the straps of the bag on my shoulder, we made our way through the crowd to the green room so I could change into my stripper attire while Milton ditched to either get laid or get drunk.

“Outsiders aren’t allowed.” A woman, who if I remembered correctly was Candysucker, scoffed when she looked at Rosie behind me, and I inclined my gaze towards my friend hesitantly.

“I’ll wait,” Rosie replied, giving me a reassuring smile.

Without another word, I made my way into one of the empty dressing compartments. I tried not to focus much on the money I had spent to buy these skimpy undergarments, or the mixed smell of the rich perfumes and hair sprays, or the bickering of grown women fighting for a stool to sit in front of the mirror, or all the ugly things about my body as I changed into my clothes.

By the time I exited the compartment, I found a few women staring at my outfit; a black leather jacket over a plaid skirt and a matching top, a pair of stockings, and a pair of black heels — obviously a pair of undergarments with crotch and nipple stickers, to protect my virtue just in case the strings loosened.

Candysucker let out a wolf whistle before she slapped my ass. “Put some make-up on those ugly stretch marks.”

Whatever little fierceness I had when biting off Caith’s head vaporized, and my insecurity came back to tear me apart before I even made a cent.

“You need a boob job and a few curves, girl.” Sweet Cheeks, the most experienced stripper in this club, laughed as her eyes took me in. I rolled my lip in between my teeth, unable to help the churning of my stomach.

I’m going to fuck this up, aren’t I?

“You should do something about your crooked nose.”

“Is Celestina Irwine here?” A masculine voice drifted into the room before a pair of boots appeared in my sight.

“That’s me.”

“The commenter is asking for your stage name,” the man informed, a question ringing in his tone, and I pondered for a name.

Black Death because I’ve black hair?

Age of exploration?


Leonardo da Vinci?


“Celestina,” the man’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Monalisa?” The name left my lips before I could stop it.

“Perfect. You look just like that dumb bitch with black hair and black eyes.” Candysucker barked out a laugh which was followed by all the women in the room.

“Monalisa, it is then.” The man announced and retraced his steps before I could stop him. My insides coiled thinking of all these confident women against whom I won’t stand a chance any day.

Keeping my jaw from quavering was an energy-draining effort as I listened to all the women make a remark about my body, reminding me how imperfect I was, as I waited for my turn to do the dance. By the time I was walking backstage with Rosaleigh on my side, my heart was hammering at a fatal pace, hearing the roar of appreciation from those men.

“Hey bitch, you got this, okay? You have always been that strikingly gorgeous and cock raising—” I narrowed my eyes at her and she chuckled, “women. Now you go there and show them all what you have got.”

Let them all make more comments about my body.

Bare my flaws to all of them for money.

Rosie or anyone never truly knew the intensity of my insecurities. No one would try to understand without calling me dramatic, and I spent years camouflaging everything behind baggy sweatshirts and jeans. Now, these men would walk all over me, throwing tips my way.

“Celestina,” Rosie whispered, smiling encouragingly, “they are you calling your name, pull a leg for me.”

Giving her a nod, I strolled away from her and towards the stage.

You’re doing this for mum, Celestina.

The lights turned purple, and the music played as I stood there with a racing heart. The curtain was pulled back, revealing me to the crowd, twisting my insides as I somehow managed to walk, swaying my hips to the beat of the music. As if the pole was some lifeline, I clung to it, hiding my face from all of them as I performed all the moves I learned.

Not the pole dancing moves, but the moves my mother did.

I couldn’t stop reminiscing the expressive look on her face as I experimented with all those sublime ways she moved her body to show the beauty of the dance as she captured the attention of the audience.

I did ballet pole.

How did I not break any of my bones was still a mystery as I danced and danced, thinking of my mother’s cheerful smile, somehow getting the roar of appreciation and rain of money as I stripped my clothes.

“The next is Candysucker, save your money.” I heard the commenter yell and just like that my confidence melted, making my ears alert to every comment.

“Dude, grab that ass,”

“This bitch’s tits ain’t shit.”

“Remove the bra, whore.”

“Jiggle your ass, Monalisa!”

“Come on, Monalisa. Are you twerking hard or hardly twerking?”

The words kept on coming, tearing my heart with their fangs and talons before I left the pole, and my body moved on its own accord towards the edge of the stage despite my reluctance.

Then I felt hands wandering over my body, shoving the notes into my thong and bra just so they could get a feel. I had to be content; I was making money, so much money in a night, but all I could feel was worms crawling on my body and my insides churning.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, I felt hands gripping my hips, fingers sliding under my thong despite me wiggling and fighting to become free. But there were too many hands grabbing me, groping my breasts before the lights turned off and tears slipped down my eyes.

“Get the fuck off of her!” A voice roared through the noise of the crowd before I heard a slap shrill.

Rosaleigh, my knight in shining armor, went ballistic to shove all the men a few feet away from me before she led me out of the club through the back door.

The wind howled around as all the bottled-up emotions exploded in me, tears gushing with no restraint, my head throbbing as I fell back onto my knees on the hard road with my head buried in my hands as I wept.

Wept from being emotionally drained on the very first day.

Wept for all the abuse this job would subject me to.

Wept for my mother whom I may fail.

Wept for not being able to love myself.

Eventually, Rosie sank down to the ground and pulled me into a hug, drawing circles on my back as I cried for how helpless I felt, all the while feeling a pair of eyes on me.

Watching me break and cry, unable to bear the crushing weight on my shoulders.

Or it was just my mind playing tricks to make me feel more miserable.

By the time Rosie dropped my now fully clothed self at the end of a dimly lit street before driving off to her place, I knew I needed to put on my big girl panties and stop crying about these petty things. Females were constantly exposed to the worst things, and I needed to suck it up.

What was weird was, I felt the lingering presence of someone watching me before I heard footsteps behind me. My heart thudded harder as I watched the shadow cast on the road come closer to mine. We were being followed all this while. Someone had been watching me.

My feet carried me faster despite the ache in my limbs, and the blisters formed on my feet as I rummaged through my bag with my left hand for the metallic cylinder.

Hot breath fanned my neck before a hand coiled around my right wrist. I pulled the pepper spray out, but strong hands clutched my wrist, dragging my hand behind my back and locking them with one of his hands. Before I could scream for help, another hand wrapped around my mouth instinctively. I aimed to hit him in the balls with my foot, but I felt my leg sheathed between two muscular thighs.

“No, need to fight sweetheart, I’m not here to hurt you.” A voice poured into my ear.

I struggled to set myself free, and he mumbled, “I’ve seen what happened at the club.”

My insides froze.

“You don’t have to work there and cry every night if you work under me.”

I sunk my teeth into his wrist, and he released with a hiss. I sneered, “let go of me.”

“Think about my offer,”

“Fucking asshóle! Let go—”

A cool metallic card slid into my palm behind me before he muttered. “Saturday at 7 O’clock. Be there at the mentioned address, and we can talk about the rest there.”

What the fuck?

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