The moment Alec Virelli kissed her again, the entire club vanished.
There were people everywhere—dancing, drinking, watching—but all she could feel was him.
His mouth claimed hers like it was owed to him. Like he was taking back what she stole when she disappeared that morning without a word.
And God help her… she let him.
No resistance. No excuses.
Because the truth was, she had missed him too.
His lips were hot and demanding, rough in a way that should've made her run—but instead made her ache. He tasted like bourbon and obsession. His hands cupped her face, possessive and firm, as if reminding her, you're not getting away this time.
She broke the kiss first, breathless and shaken. "This is a bad idea."
"I know," he murmured, not even pretending to disagree. "Do it anyway."
She wanted to say no. She really did.
But her body leaned in when it should've pulled back.
And he felt it.
He always did.
He brushed his thumb along her cheek, gaze dark and dangerous. "You left without a name. Without a note. Like I was nothing."
"It was supposed to be one night."
"It wasn't," he growled softly.
His voice wrapped around her like smoke—low, demanding, pulling her into a storm she knew she couldn't escape.
"Alec…" she breathed.
"You think I forgot what your mouth feels like?" he whispered, pressing her against the nearest wall like he owned it. "What your body does when I touch you right… here?"
His hand slid down her waist and gripped her hip firmly, right where he'd held her while she moaned into his sheets.
She gasped—soft, instinctive.
His smirk was devastating.
"Still responsive," he whispered. "Still mine."
"No," she said, voice shaking. "I'm not yours. That night didn't mean anything."
"Then why the fuck are you trembling?"
His breath ghosted over her lips.
She hated how right he felt.
How her body betrayed her with every beat.
---
She pushed him back gently, breathing heavy. "I didn't come here for you."
"You didn't come here for anyone else, either."
He stepped forward again, caging her between his body and the wall, gaze devouring.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered. "Right now. Say it, and I'll walk away. I'll forget you."
She opened her mouth—nothing came out.
Because she didn't want him to stop.
She wanted to stop herself.
She wanted to be stronger.
But her silence was an answer.
And Alec knew it.
"Come with me," he said, voice low, dangerous.
"I can't," she whispered, voice cracking.
"Can't, or won't?"
She looked up at him—into those cold, furious eyes—and whispered, "Because if I do… I won't leave again."
---
Later That Night – In His Penthouse
The door shut with a click behind them.
Silence filled the space. A thousand unsaid words pressed into the air.
He turned to her slowly, undoing his cuffs as he spoke. "Why did you leave that morning?"
She stood near the window, arms crossed, trying to seem unbothered while her heart pounded like a war drum.
"Because I don't do attachment," she said. "I don't get involved. That night was a mistake."
His eyes flared, but his voice stayed calm. "You don't get to decide that for both of us."
She laughed bitterly. "What, you think because we had one night of sex that I'm yours now?"
"No." He stepped closer. "I think because I can't stop thinking about you, and you came back to my club wearing guilt in your eyes, something between us is unfinished."
She hated how accurate that was.
He stopped right in front of her. "I'm not asking for a fairy tale, sweetheart. I don't even believe in that shit. But I'm not done with you. And neither are you."
She swallowed hard. "You don't know me."
His hand came up, brushing her hair back gently, his voice turning softer—but no less dangerous.
"Then let me."
---
She didn't reply.
Not with words.
Instead, she stepped forward, stood on her toes, and kissed him.
Hard. Deep. Like it was a surrender and a scream at the same time.
He kissed her back like a man reclaiming what was stolen from him.
Clothes came off fast—her sheer top tossed aside, his shirt unbuttoned in seconds. Her hands dragged down his chest, his mouth latched onto her neck like he wanted to taste her past.
They moved to the couch in the open living room. He sat down, and she climbed onto his lap—just like that night. Except this time, it wasn't a mystery.
It was repetition.
It was remembrance.
She looked into his eyes, panting, lips swollen. "This doesn't mean anything."
He chuckled darkly. "Then why does it feel like everything?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she sank down onto him slowly, eyes fluttering shut, breath catching.
And when he groaned her name into her shoulder and gripped her like a man falling apart—she knew they'd crossed a line neither of them could undo.
---
After
Later, when she lay draped over his chest and silence filled the room again, she whispered, "I was scared."
He blinked, staring at the ceiling. "Of what?"
"You. Me. The way it felt."
Alec turned to her, brushing her bare shoulder gently. "Good. Fear means it matters."
She looked up at him.
He wasn't just a mistake.
He was a choice.
A dangerous, reckless, addicting choice.
And now?
She wasn't sure she could walk away again.