Viona's POV
I stumbled into the dance floor , warmth and bass swallowing me whole. I ordered something sharp and amber, let it burn down my throat, and laughed at nothing. Maybe at everything.
That's when I felt it, eyes on me.
He leaned against the far wall, his gaze steady as if he'd been waiting. I should have looked away. Instead, I tilted my glass in a mock salute. He smiled-slow, knowing-and it made my skin tighten with recognition I couldn't place.
When he crossed the floor, the crowd seemed to part without meaning to. His presence carried weight, subtle and magnetic. Close enough, I smelled smoke and something darker, like cedar caught in rain.
"You look like you're trying to forget," he said.
"Maybe I am," I slurred softly, though my words carried more honesty than I meant them to. "Do I know you?"
He tilted his head. "You should. Doesn't it feel like you do?"
It did. The familiarity unnerved me, like remembering a dream too vividly. His fingers brushed my wrist, light, testing. My pulse betrayed me, fluttering at the contact.
The music throbbed, our silence filling the space between beats. He didn't rush. Neither did I.
Drunk or not, I leaned in, as if pulled by gravity itself. His voice was a whisper meant only for me.
"Then let's not waste time pretending we're strangers."
"What's your name?"
He reached down, hand brushing mine. His touch was a question. "What would you do if I told you my name?"
"You're a Werewolf, from your scent you must be rogue?" He watched me with an unreasonable expression.
"If you give me your name, I can let you join my light pack"
I could see the smile in his eyes, softer than before. "Call me...whatever you need."
He led me to the bedroom like someone guiding a ship into a harbor; not afraid of shallow water, but aware of the tides.
Clothes became a pile on the floor, and the bed took us without comment. The first time we touched in the dark was an assessment and a declaration at once.
He pressed himself against me and I felt the exactness of him; no fumbling, no theatricality.
Just a man who knew how to measure desire.
And gods did his desire match mine.
"Tell me your name," I whispered against his collar as his hand braced behind my knees.
"I told you," he said, muffled by skin. "I don't owe you anything. That's not the arrangement."
"You owe me nothing," I answered, and meant that too. "But names are good scaffolding. They keep things from turning into smoke."
"Then call me 'A' for tonight." He was teasing, but he said it like a confirmation.
"A," I repeated. "I like the shape of it."
He laughed, and it was a sound that touched the place behind my sternum that didn't usually let things in. "You like a lot of things, Viona."
"Do you know my name?" I frowned in the dark, surprised at how quickly it felt like news.
"I do," he said against my throat. "I like it."
Foolish felt like permission, and I used it. I used my hands like declarations, my mouth like signature. "Tell me what you want," I demanded, because I liked when men who were confident could be coaxed into being honest.
"You," he said, blunt as a blade. "Everything you'll give me."
"You'll take responsibility?"
"I will," he said. "For the night."
He kissed my lips and answered without words, a slow, absolute affirmation that held heat and restraint.
I pushed him back lightly and looked at his face.
His lips went to my neck, sucking and running his tongue over the sensitive spot that made my legs shudder.
My desire had left evidence in my core, wet and dripping, and I wasn't ashamed to show it.
He slowly dragged his tongue my shoulders, taking his time to admire my skin. I should've felt flushed, but I felt seen. Wanted.
I needed him to take me.
My hands traced up his back, pulling him closer to me.
He grunted, then smirked with amusement before leaning back and grabbing my thighs so that they sat on his shoulder.
My breath stuttered. "Do you-"
"Yes," his voice was husky now, filled with restraint and loss of control all at once.
I could feel myself getting wetter.
I leaned back, my fingers finding his soft hair and his tongues delved into my folds.
The moans that left my lips were unfathomable, a chorus of pleasure and excitement in one.
He ate like I was his last meal, an endless banquet and he couldn't get enough of the taste.
My body shuddered, my core got hotter, and my legs were wrapped around his head so tight that I forgot he needed to breathe.
But he didn't seem bothered.
He went on until my release coursed through my veins, leaving my body in a mess of warmth and more need.
He didn't give me time to recover. The tip of his cock pressed against my entrance, and I gasped through the haze of pleasure clouding my eyes.
"Shh, you'll take me just fine," he whispered, his hands tracing the curve of my breasts before softly pinching my nipple.
When my lips parted, he slammed into me in one brutal thrust, making my gasp turn into a moan.
He stretched me out, and the feeling of him so big inside of me brought images I would want to remember for eternity.
Eventually, I couldn't hold the sounds any longer.
Neither could he.
The sound of our grunts and moans together with the rhythmic slapping of skin and the creak of the bed filled the air, and through the haze I wondered just how intense we sounded to the outside world.
But the thought vanished as soon as it came, and my release was building in my core again.
His thrusts were merciless, pounding into my tired and delicate frame without a single care in the world.
"Fuck," I moaned, digging my nails into his back as I felt him pulse inside me.
We came together, and he fell beside me, our breaths ragged. Then he smiled and pulled me close to him, planting a soft kiss to my forehead. I swear I could feel his sperm inside me, still wet in my core.