Nico leaned back against the bar, downing another shot like water. The glass hit the counter with a clink.
His eyes were glossy. His breathing? Rough.
And Santi?
He just stood there, pretending to be casual, but his palms were sweating. His throat, dry.
"You're drinking a lot…" Santi said carefully.
A pause.
Then—
Nico's voice dropped, low and slow. "Master," he corrected, almost in a whisper.
Santi froze.
Nico didn't even look at him as he poured another shot. "It's master to you."
Santi's heart thudded wildly. God, even drunk, this man oozed control.
But what came next—
He didn't see it coming.
In one blurred movement, Nico turned and pushed him back—fast, rough, hot. Santi's back hit the cold wall. He gasped. Nico was in his space. Right there.
Too close.
Too hot.
Too everything.
"Softie…" Nico muttered, voice breathy, almost broken. "Why do you always run?"
Santi blinked. Softie?
His chest tightened. But Nico wasn't seeing him right now.
He was seeing Kyan.
