Cole had never been the type to linger. He usually took what he wanted, quick and easy, like swiping the last drink at a bar. But with Naya? Everything felt different—off.
She was a challenge.
And goddamn, if that didn't make her more irresistible.
He could feel her hesitation—almost taste it—between every move they made, every glance they exchanged. It was raw, unspoken. She was all tangled up in herself, trying to decide if she was ready to follow his lead or not.
Most girls would've been all over him by now. Not Naya. She was… different. And that made him slow down just a little, though it killed him to do it.
He pulled her in, just enough so their bodies brushed, the heat between them sharp. His fingers slid over her waist, barely grazing the skin beneath her dress. She stiffened for a second, but he didn't pull away. He never did.
"You don't know what you want, do you?" Cole's voice was low, rough, each word curling in the space between them.
Naya's eyes flickered, and she bit her lip. The tequila was clearly working on her—he could see it in the way her pulse raced at her neck. But she wasn't giving in just yet.
"I know exactly what I don't want," she shot back, but her voice wavered, just enough for him to hear.
A smile tugged at his lips. This was exactly what he wanted. Her on the edge, holding back, knowing there was something dangerous in the air, but still being drawn to it.
"Careful," he warned, his hand sliding lower on her back, pulling her closer. "If you keep looking at me like that, you'll end up wanting more than you bargained for."
She swallowed, and for a second, he thought she might break. But then, just as quickly, her eyes hardened, her chin lifting. She was a fighter. Good.
"You think you can just take what you want, huh?"
"I know I can," he murmured, his lips almost brushing her ear. "But I'm not in a rush. You'll come to me on your own."
There was that pause again. That quiet tension.
His grip tightened, his hand moving to her jaw, lifting her chin. He didn't kiss her—not yet. He was so close, but he wanted her to make the choice. And god, how it killed him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Dante and Jenny—now practically glued to each other. Dante was kissing her slowly, possessively, a hand tangled in her hair, like he was staking his claim.
It was always so fucking easy for guys like him. No care, no consequence. But Cole?
Cole wasn't like that. Not this time.
Not with Naya.
He could see her watching them, that mix of curiosity and something else—something she wasn't sure how to handle. Her lips parted, eyes flicking back to him.
"Why are you being so careful?" she asked, the question barely audible over the music, but it was enough to catch him off guard.
Cole's smirk was quick, sharp. "I don't make moves like everyone else," he replied, his voice rough, a challenge hidden behind the words. "You'll get it when I'm ready to take you."
Her breath caught, and for a split second, her eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. She wanted him, but damn if she wasn't going to make him work for it.
And Cole? He didn't mind that. He liked it.
He stepped back for just a second, giving her space, watching her process what had just happened. He was patient. Just this once.
Then, without giving her a chance to protest, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the rhythm of the music. This time, he didn't give her the chance to overthink it. She stumbled into him, and he caught her easily, guiding her through the crowded floor.
"Relax," he said, voice gruff as he pulled her flush against him, her back to his chest now. "You're overthinking."
Naya's breath hitched as she settled against him, the tension still crackling between them, thick and heavy. She didn't speak, but her body responded to his every movement. That was all Cole needed.
He wasn't waiting for her to decide any longer. His hand slid to her side, fingers grazing just below her ribs, feeling the way she inhaled sharply, the tiny shiver that ran through her.
Cole leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "I can feel how badly you want this. So let go."
Her skin prickled beneath his breath, a shiver rippling down her spine. She shifted, barely, but it was enough—enough for him to feel her body melt into his like water finding its shape. She was slipping, her guard unraveling thread by thread.
"Stop fighting it," he whispered, his voice rough with restraint. It wasn't a request—it was a slow, steady promise that burned low and dangerous.
Then, finally, he leaned in.
His lips brushed hers—featherlight at first, like he was asking. Teasing. Daring her to move. Her breath hitched, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to gravity. But she didn't pull away.
And that—that was everything.
He kissed her again, deeper now. Purposeful. His hand cradled her jaw, thumb grazing the edge of her cheek, while his other arm snaked around her waist and pulled her against him. The world dulled to a hum, the music, the lights, the crowd—none of it mattered. Just her mouth on his, warm and tentative and hungry.
She opened to him with a quiet sigh, the kind that hit him in the chest like a punch. Her fingers moved up, curling around the back of his neck, anchoring him closer, as if she'd finally decided to stop running.
Their lips moved in sync—an unspoken rhythm, like they'd always known how to find each other in the dark.
And when he pulled away—slow, reluctant—his lips still grazed hers, breath mingling in the heat between them.
He didn't smile. He smirked. Low and wicked.
"Now," he murmured, voice rough as gravel, "we're
playing by my rules."