Scarlett's Pov
The neon glow of the bar's sign flickered against the rain-slicked pavement as I hesitated at the entrance. Inside, the pulsing bass of music and the low hum of laughter spilled into the night—an invitation I wasn't sure I wanted to accept.
"Come on, Scarlett," Ava whined, looping her arm through mine. "You work too damn much. One drink, a little fun, and I promise we won't let you marry a stranger by morning."
"Speak for yourself," Riley grinned. "If she bags a billionaire, I expect VIP treatment at the wedding."
I rolled my eyes but let them pull me inside. The bar was upscale, filled with the kind of crowd that reeked of wealth and self-importance. Suits and designer dresses mingled under dim golden lights, business deals disguised as casual conversations.
"This isn't exactly my scene," I muttered, smoothing my dress as we made our way to a high-top table near the bar.
"Which is exactly why it should be," Ava countered, ordering a round of drinks. "You need to loosen up."
I sighed, accepting the cocktail placed in front of me. Maybe they were right. Maybe I needed this. One night to forget about job interviews, bills, and the crushing weight of responsibility.
Or at least, that was my excuse when I locked eyes with him.
He was seated at a private booth, surrounded by other men in dark suits. Businessmen, undoubtedly. But unlike the others, who were either deep in conversation or scrolling through their phones, he leaned back with an air of disinterest. Sharp jawline, piercing gray eyes, and a presence that demanded attention without a single word.
I wasn't the only one who noticed him—half the women in the bar stole glances his way. But when his gaze locked onto mine, something passed between us. A flicker of amusement? Interest? Whatever it was, it sent a slow curl of heat through me.
"Shit," Ava whispered, nudging me. "Do not look away. He's coming over."
My pulse jumped as I watched him rise, his movements deliberate, like he knew the effect he had on people. The men at his table barely reacted as he left, as if they were used to him doing whatever the hell he wanted.
Within seconds, he was at our table, his gaze flicking over my friends before settling on me.
"Enjoying yourself?" His voice was smooth, deep, laced with something unreadable.
I arched a brow, refusing to let him see how much his presence affected me. "I was, until you interrupted."
His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "I doubt that."
The audacity. "And you are?"
"Damien." A simple name, spoken with confidence. No last name. No unnecessary words.
Riley sucked in a sharp breath. Ava's eyes widened slightly. That was all I needed to know—whoever he was, he was important. But I refused to fawn over him like the rest of the bar.
"Well, Damien," I drawled, taking a slow sip of my drink. "You're blocking my view."
His chuckle was low, rich, and entirely too enticing. "And what exactly were you looking at?"
"Anything more interesting than a man who thinks his presence alone is enough to impress me."
He studied me, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "Careful, sweetheart. You might find I enjoy a challenge."
My heart did a traitorous little stutter, but I kept my expression cool. "Then you're in the wrong place. I don't do challenges—I do guarantees."
His gaze darkened slightly, a flicker of something dangerous lurking beneath the amusement. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely," I said, leaning forward just enough to match his intensity. "If I wanted you, I'd already have you."
A challenge thrown, a line drawn. But instead of being put off, Damien seemed intrigued. His fingers brushed against the edge of my glass, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Then I suppose we'll see how this night ends."
An hour later, my friends were barely holding in their laughter as I grabbed my purse.
"So not your scene, huh?" Ava teased.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, please," Riley snorted. "You've been eye-fucking him for the past forty-five minutes. Just admit you like him and go."
I huffed. "It's not like that."
"Mhmm." Ava grinned. "So when he asked you to leave with him, you said yes out of charity?"
I hesitated. "It's just one night."
Ava leaned in, lowering her voice. "Just… be careful, okay? He's hot as hell, but men like that? They don't play fair."
I knew that. I knew. And yet, when I turned to see Damien waiting by the exit, watching me with that same unreadable expression, I ignored every warning in my head.
I walked toward him, my heels clicking against the floor, feeling his gaze trail over me like a physical touch.
"Changed your mind?" he murmured as I reached him.
I tilted my chin up. "I was never undecided."
His lips twitched again, but this time, it wasn't amusement—it was satisfaction.
"Good," he murmured, his voice dropping lower. "Because I don't like to be kept waiting."
The hotel suite was luxurious, but I barely noticed.
The door hadn't even clicked shut when my back hit it, hard—his body pressing into mine, his mouth crashing onto mine like he'd been starving for me since the first second we locked eyes.
I kissed him back just as fiercely.
Our tongues tangled, teeth grazing in a messy, breathless collision. My lipstick smeared across his mouth as he grabbed my jaw with one hand, holding me there like he could devour me whole. His other hand slid down the curve of my back and grabbed a handful of my ass through the short, glittery dress I'd worn to play with men like him.
He was falling for it. Hard.
"You knew exactly what you were doing when you wore this," he growled against my lips, voice low and wicked.
"I didn't expect to meet someone who could keep up," I whispered back, biting his bottom lip.
"Oh, sweetheart…" He dragged that same lip between his teeth, smiling darkly. "I don't keep up. I take over."
And fuck, did he mean it.
He spun me fast, pinning me against the wall, hips grinding into my ass. I felt him already—thick and solid, hard as hell—and I rocked back against him with a slow roll of my hips. His hand slid around the front, pressing between my thighs, fingers cupping me through my panties like he owned the right.
"You've been wet since the club, haven't you?" he muttered into my ear, voice like smoke curling down my spine.
I pushed into him again, slow and deliberate. "What if I was?"
"Then we're already late."
The next thing I knew, he lifted me—arms locked under my thighs like I weighed nothing—and carried me across the room. I kissed his neck on the way, tasting sweat, cologne, heat. When he dropped me onto the bed, I tugged him down by the collar of his shirt and kissed him again—sloppier, messier, greedy hands yanking fabric.
I pulled my dress off over my head and let it fall wherever. His eyes darkened when he saw what was underneath—thin, black lace, more suggestive than it was functional.
"Fuck, Scarlett." His hands trailed the edges of my bra before expertly flicking the clasp open. "You wore this for me?"
"I didn't even know your name an hour ago," I teased, breathless.
"You do now."
He ripped his shirt off—broad chest, sculpted abs on full display—and god help me, I stared. I ran my fingers down the ridges of his stomach, dragging my nails just to feel him twitch.
"Sit back," I told him, voice thick with heat.
He raised a brow like he was letting me borrow control for a moment. But he obeyed, leaning back on his elbows while I dropped to my knees between his legs.
I unbuckled his belt slowly, deliberately, just to see that little twitch in his jaw. Then I freed him from his briefs—and holy hell. Thick, hard, already leaking. I wrapped my hand around him and stroked once. Then again. Slow and tight.
"You're filthy," he murmured, watching me through half-lidded eyes.
"And you love it."
I leaned in and kissed the tip, then licked a slow circle around it before finally taking him into my mouth. Inch by inch. One hand stroked the base while my lips slid deeper, tasting salt, heat, the weight of him filling my mouth. His groan was low and feral, and his hand threaded into my hair—not pushing, just gripping like he needed to feel something grounded.
"God, your mouth…" he breathed. "Don't stop. Don't you fucking stop."
I didn't.
I sucked harder, faster, watching his jaw tense, listening to every moan I dragged out of him. When his hips lifted, I held him down by his thighs, letting him feel the scrape of my tongue, the slide of my throat, how eager I was to wreck him.
But he pulled me off with a sharp tug, eyes blazing.
"Get on the bed."
I wiped my mouth, smirking, and crawled up onto the pillows, legs spread. He followed, slow and hungry, kissing up my thigh as he pushed my knees apart. My panties were soaked and clinging to me—he groaned at the sight and tore them off like they offended him.
Then he dove in.
"Shit—Damien—" My fingers tangled in his hair as he licked me like he was trying to drown in it. Broad strokes of his tongue, sharp suction on my clit, and when he moaned against me, the vibration made my hips buck. He fucked me with his tongue, slid two fingers inside and curled them just right until my thighs were trembling.
"Damien—fuck—I'm gonna—"
"Come for me," he growled. "I want your mess all over my face."
And I did. Hard. Shaking. Loud. My cries bounced off the walls as he licked me through it, slow and possessive, like he wasn't done with me yet.
When he finally kissed up my body, he was breathing hard, lips slick with me.
"You're addictive."
"Then take another hit," I whispered, reaching between us to wrap my hand around his cock again.
He groaned, grabbed my wrist, and pinned it above my head as he lined himself up.
"Beg."
I narrowed my eyes. "You want me to beg?"
"I want to hear you say it."
I lifted my hips, grinding against the thick head of his cock. "Fuck me, Damien. Hard."
He slammed into me in one deep, ruthless thrust.
My breath caught—then broke. He didn't wait, didn't give me time to adjust. His hips snapped against mine, deep and fast, every stroke claiming something new. He pinned my wrists down with one hand, the other gripping my thigh as he fucked me like it was his purpose.
"You feel that?" he grunted. "How tight you are? You were made for this. For me."
Every word was gasoline. I wrapped my legs around his waist and met each thrust, my moans louder now, body winding tighter.
"You're so fucking cocky," I panted.
"And you fucking love it."
He bit down on my shoulder and kissed the mark, then slowed—grinding deep, making me feel every inch. The pressure was maddening.
"Touch yourself," he whispered. "I want to watch you fall apart while I'm inside you."
I obeyed—hand slipping between us, circling my clit. With every thrust, every roll of my fingers, the pleasure built again until it burst. I cried out, legs shaking around him, vision white-hot.
He pulled out with a curse, flipped me onto my stomach, and before I could breathe, he was inside me again—deeper, harder, the angle brutal.
"Fuck," I gasped into the pillow. "Damien—"
"You're perfect like this," he growled. "Face down. Ass up. Letting me ruin you."
And he was. I could barely think, barely move, just moan and take everything he gave me. I reached back to steady myself on his thigh—but he caught my hand and laced our fingers, fucking me harder with every ragged breath.
"I'm close," he warned.
"Come inside," I begged. "Please."
He growled—a deep, primal sound—and slammed into me a final few times before spilling into me with a shuddering, broken moan.
We collapsed together, tangled and soaked in sweat, hearts racing.
Silence.
Then I turned my head, grinning like the devil. "So…"
He looked over, chest heaving. "What?"
"Round two?"
Damien laughed, low and wrecked. "You're fucking trouble."
I smiled. "And you're fucking addicted."