The city was a beast with neon teeth, its streets pulsing, alive with filth and desire. Heat clung to my skin, a mix of cheap bourbon, sweat, and the kind of recklessness that only came after one too many drinks. The bass from the club behind me thumped like a second heartbeat, but out here, the air was thick with something heavier—something that tasted like trouble.
I had made a mistake.
My so-called date’s fingers were still clamped around my wrist, his grip just a little too tight, his breath a little too eager against my ear.
“Come on,” he coaxed, voice dipped in false sweetness. “One more drink at my place. Don’t be a tease.” My pulse thrummed beneath his grip, something deep and instinctual curling at the base of my spine. I hated this. The assumption. The expectation.
“Let go, please.” I was visibly uncomfortable.
He laughed; his fingers pressing harder.
“I said stop!” My voice rang out, sharp and raw, slicing through the night.
And then, like a shadow sliding through the cracks of the night, he appeared.
He looked like a man built from the night itself stepping into the dim glow of the streetlamp, with a crate of beer bottles balanced effortlessly in his grip. His head gleamed under the flickering light—bald and smooth. The kind of bald that made him look lethal. His deep brown eyes were piercing; they locked onto me for a split second before sliding toward the man clutching my wrist. A scar curved along his temple, jagged and silver against his tanned skin—a relic from a past that probably had bodies in it.
He passed us without a word, setting the crate down on the roof of a sleek black car parked nearby. Then he turned back, rolling his shoulders, cracking his knuckles. “She said stop.”
My would-be date scoffed, straightening. “Mind your own business.”
The man smiled, but there was no humour in it.
Then, without warning, his fist connected with the man’s jaw. The crack of bone against bone split the night, and my so-called date crumpled to the pavement with a grunt. I staggered back, with my heart rattling against my ribs. Everything happened too fast—the panic, the grasping hands, and now this—a man sprawled on the ground, another standing over him like he owned the moment.
“You alright?” His voice was rough, edged in gravel.
I blinked, the world spinning slightly. I was drunk, but not enough to be stupid. I nodded, swallowing past the dryness in my throat. “Yeah. I think so.”
He studied me momentarily, those dark, unreadable eyes flickering over my face. Then he extended a hand. “Come on. It’s late. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”
I hesitated. Everything about him screamed danger, but the alternative was worse—standing here alone, in a strange city, with a man who had already ignored my ‘no’ once.
So I reached out. My addled, little brain swimming in bourbon, I thought, you better save me.
His fingers closed around mine as he led me toward his car, leaving the night’s wreckage behind us.
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I woke to the strange, unsettling feeling of being lifted. He held me effortlessly as if I weighed nothing, like driftwood floating on a midnight tide. His body was solid beneath me, and his scent clung to the air. Not cologne, nothing artificial. Skin, sweat, and something sinful. But something about the situation felt wrong. My mind was foggy, grogginess still clinging to me, and I could barely remember when I had fallen asleep. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be unaware, hoping he wouldn't realise I was awake.
What kind of man smelled like danger yet felt safe?
The house we entered wasn’t grand. No gleaming chandeliers or polished floors. Just dim light and sparse furniture. A couch worn with time, a table cluttered with indistinct objects, walls stripped of personal touch. No photos, no signs of home; it was just empty. It told me nothing about him. Yet somehow, it told me everything.
Who was this man?
He made his way into a room… his bedroom, I assumed. The air smelled of tobacco.
“I know you’re awake,” he murmured.
My fingers found his shoulders beneath my touch. I couldn't feign innocence anymore and tried to meet his gaze. He exhaled, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. My pulse thrummed as he lowered me to the ground.
Could attraction spark this quickly? Could it settle in my bones before I even knew his name?
His high cheekbones cast shadows in the dim light. And his ears—wait. What?
There was something about him… something I couldn’t quite grasp. Maybe it was the lingering haze of whiskey. Maybe, it was the way his jawline... It looked too sculpted to be real.
How drunk am I?
I kissed him. Just his cheek—just enough to feel the heat of his skin, to taste the faint trace of salt and sin. My lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary. I sighed softly when I pulled away.
“Thank you…” The words slipped from my mouth, softer than I intended, my eyes lowering to avoid the intensity of his gaze. Gratitude, confusion, and something else swirled inside me.
Was it the alcohol?
He smirked, the corner of his mouth curving upward as his eyes danced with knowing. “Seems like you had a bit too much to drink tonight, eh?”
He was amused, but all I could focus on were his lips; how they moved…how they held that smug glint. My heart raced, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I should’ve stopped. I should’ve asked more questions. But I felt drawn in, the more I fought myself to escape.
My lips parted, and I pulled him closer before my mind hit me with a thunderstorm of questions and self-doubts. It was instinctive. Desperate. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he froze, his palms on the wall behind me, like he was bracing himself.
He pulled back, his eyes flickering with restraint. My eyes searched his; my brows furrowed slightly as I stood my ground. He reached up, his fingers skimming my jaw, tilting my chin and forcing me to look into his eyes. His thumb brushed over my lower lip, testing, teasing. I could feel his rough, calloused skin against the softness of my mouth.
"You're drunk," he reminded me again, though his voice was anything but dissuading.
"Not too drunk," I assured him, "Not for this."
His restraint cracked like a fault line.
The kiss was brutal. Nothing soft. Nothing sweet. It was hunger; raw and unrelenting. His mouth crashed against mine, lips prying me open, teeth scraping; his tongue was a hot, demanding thing against mine. I gasped against him, hands fisting in his shirt, nails digging into the hard muscle beneath.
His hands were everywhere: palming my waist, my hips, my thighs. Claiming. Consuming. He shoved my dress up, fingers dragging along the lace at the curve of my ass, teasing, testing, his breath heavy against my throat.
Heat surged up my neck, blooming across my cheeks. I could feel it betraying me. My ears burned, a deep flush creeping to their tips, exposing how he unravelled me.
His lips softly slowed me down. He teased the corner of my mouth before pulling away just enough to let me chase him. My breath came in uneven gasps, and my chest rose and fell against his. His fingers brushed along my jaw, tracing the line to my chin, tilting my face upward as his gaze bore into mine. My lashes fluttered, struggling to hold the weight of his stare, but I couldn’t look away. My heart hammered a wild, erratic rhythm against my ribs.
Goosebumps pebbled my skin. Damn, those traitorous little spies of pleasure and fear!
The questions clawed at the edges of my mind, a swirling vortex I couldn't escape, even as a forbidden part of me desperately wanted to. The taboo thrill of it all pulsed between my legs.
"Nervous?", his voice felt like a low rumble that vibrated through me as he reached for my earrings. His fingers brushed against my earlobe.
"Maybe," My voice was barely audible. My mind screamed in protest, but my body… my body was betraying me, melting under his touch.
He chuckled. "Don't be. I promise I'll be gentle… mostly." Mostly. It wasn't a complete denial, and that sliver was a wormhole of possibilities.
The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and in that fleeting moment, he looked devastatingly handsome.
Was this dangerous? I wondered. Was this charming facade a mask for something darker, meaner and scarier?
Oh God, what now?
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