The dim, sultry glow of the nightclub pulsed around them, the bass thrumming through Lila’s body like a second heartbeat. She had come here to unwind, to forget the stress of her high-powered job—not to be pinned against the velvet-lined wall of a VIP booth by a man whose dark eyes promised sin.
But here she was.
Dante Reyes wasn’t just any man. Tall, broad-shouldered, with ink curling over his bronzed skin and a smirk that made her thighs clench, he was trouble wrapped in a tailored suit. And right now, his hands—rough from years of fighting in underground rings—were sliding up her waist, possessive and sure.
“You’ve been watching me all night,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. His voice was pure velvet, laced with command. “Why?”
Lila swallowed hard. She had been watching. From the moment he walked in, the crowd parting for him like he owned the place, she couldn’t look away. The way he moved—like a predator, all coiled strength and effortless control—had sent heat pooling low in her stomach.
“Maybe I like the view,” she shot back, arching into him.
Dante’s grip tightened. “Then let me give you a better one.”
Before she could respond, he spun her around, pressing her back against his chest. His fingers traced the bare skin above her dress’s neckline, teasing, before dipping lower, just enough to make her gasp. The music swallowed the sound, but he felt the way her body shuddered against him.
“You’re playing with fire,” she warned, breathless.
He nipped at her neck. “Burn with me.”
Then his hands were on her hips, guiding her into a slow, filthy grind against him. She could feel every hard inch of him, the evidence of his desire pressing into her. The air between them was thick, charged, and when his lips finally crashed down on hers, it was pure possession.
His kiss was relentless, demanding, his tongue sliding against hers in a rhythm that had her clawing at his shoulders. She was drowning in him—the taste of whiskey, the scent of leather and spice, the way his teeth scraped her lower lip just hard enough to make her moan.
“Dante—”
“Tell me you want this,” he growled against her mouth.
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
That single word unleashed something wild in him. In one fluid motion, he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her through a private door, down a dimly lit hallway. The last coherent thought she had was that she should stop this—should remember that Dante Reyes was dangerous in every way.
But then his hands were under her dress, his fingers slipping beneath the lace of her panties, and all reason shattered.
“Mine,” he whispered, before claiming her in every way possible.
And oh, she was.