Alina
The music pulsed like a heartbeat—deep, dark, and demanding. Lights flashed in hypnotic patterns above the crowd at Club Sinner, casting shadows over bodies grinding, drinking, forgetting. It smelled like sex, sweat, smoke, and secrets—the kind of place where lost girls found trouble and dangerous men waited in corners with half-smiles and darker intentions.
I wasn't supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to want this.
But I did.
I wore black—tight, slinky, and daring. The kind of dress that whispered rebellion with every sway of my hips. My heels clicked against the glossy floor as I moved through the chaos like I belonged, even though I was trembling underneath it all. This place wasn't safe. That's exactly why I came.
That's when I saw him.
Jace Romano.
He stood on the upper balcony, arms crossed, black button-down rolled up his forearms, tattoos peeking out like shadows under his skin. His jaw was sharp, lips slightly parted as he watched the crowd beneath him—not like a king watching his kingdom. Like a predator watching prey.
Our eyes locked.
And just like that, I was chosen.
My pulse stuttered. I turned away, suddenly shy, like some idiot girl who didn't know how to play this game. But his gaze followed me through the crowd like a chain wrapped around my neck, tugging me toward him.
Minutes passed—or maybe seconds. And then, he was just there. Behind me.
"New face," he said, voice dark velvet and smoke, warm against my ear. "You come here to get lost, baby?"
I should've walked away.
But I turned, facing him. "Maybe I came to be found."
His smile was slow, dangerous. "Careful what you ask for."
He took my hand and led me through the crowd, past doors no one else got to go through. Every step toward the back hallway was a step deeper into the heat building between my thighs. I felt it—his power, his hunger—wrapping around me like a noose.
When the door shut behind us in a private lounge, the music dulled to a throb. Dim lights glowed on leather couches and sleek shelves of liquor.
He didn't wait.
He backed me into the wall and caged me in with his arms. "Tell me to stop," he said, voice gravel now. "I'll listen."
I didn't.
He kissed me like a threat—hard, claiming, his hand sliding up my bare thigh until he found the thin scrap of lace between my legs. His fingers brushed it aside like it offended him. I gasped into his mouth.
"You're wet," he growled, dragging two fingers through the slick mess I'd made for him. "Fucking soaked."
My head tipped back as he dropped to his knees.
He didn't ask permission.
He didn't need to.
His tongue was fire and silk, lips sealing around my clit with practiced greed while two fingers curled deep inside me, finding the spot that made my legs quake.
I cried out, shameless and high, grinding into his mouth like I needed him to ruin me just to breathe.
"That's it," he murmured, voice muffled by my thighs. "Give it to me, baby. Show me how you fall."
I came hard, shuddering, my hand in his hair, my body his possession.
And when he stood again, mouth glistening with me, eyes dark and ravenous, I knew.
I was already his.
And he was going to destroy me.