The bass throbbed through Elena's veins like a second heartbeat. Lights flashed, bodies swayed, and laughter spilled over from the plush corner booth where she sat pressed between her two best friends. Tonight was supposed to be about celebration, she had just landed a job she had been desperate for, a position as personal assistant to the CEO of one of the biggest corporations in the city. The paycheck would change everything.
But instead of champagne toasts and sensible giggles, her friends had decided to drag her into a smoky club filled with strangers, cocktails stronger than gasoline, and a dangerous game of truth or dare.
"Truth or dare, Elena?" her best friend, Nia, asked, grinning like a predator.
Elena leaned back, tipsy from her third cocktail, the sweetness of it still clinging to her lips. "Dare," she said recklessly.
"Good girl." Nia's eyes glittered with mischief. "Then here's your challenge: the next man who walks through that door…" She pointed toward the wide, velvet-draped entrance. "…you're going to kiss him. A real kiss, no half-assed peck. Tongue and heat. A one-night stand, if he's willing."
The table erupted in shrieks of laughter.
Elena rolled her eyes but her blood hummed. She wasn't an innocent girl, never had been. She liked a little risk, a little danger. And she was tipsy enough not to second-guess herself.
"Fine," she said, smirking. "Whoever walks in next. I don't care if it's the devil himself."
As if summoned, the doors opened.
He stepped inside like he owned the room. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a black tailored suit that hugged his frame like it was made for him alone. His dark hair gleamed under the lights, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He wasn't smiling, he didn't need to. The sheer weight of his presence commanded attention.
Elena's breath caught.
Her friends gasped. "Holy hell," one whispered.
But she didn't give herself time to think. Liquid courage surged through her veins, and before the man even noticed the stares turning toward him, Elena was on her feet. She crossed the floor on unsteady but determined legs, her heels clicking against the polished surface, her heart hammering.
He looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly in surprise as she came straight toward him.
And before he could blink, she grabbed his lapels, rose onto her toes, and crushed her mouth against his.
The club seemed to go silent for half a second.
His lips were firm, cool, unyielding, until they weren't. The instant of shock gave way to something darker, hotter. His large hands clamped around her waist, pulling her flush against the hard wall of his chest, and he kissed her back with a hunger that made her head spin. His mouth parted, his tongue slid against hers, and she whimpered before she could stop herself.
The world erupted again, whistles, laughter, shocked gasps, but Elena barely heard any of it. All she knew was him. The taste of expensive whiskey on his tongue, the dominance in the way he devoured her mouth like she was already his.
When he finally tore his lips from hers, she was panting, dizzy, staring up into the sharpest gray eyes she had ever seen.
"What," he said in a low, dangerous growl, "was that?"
Her lips tingled, her body burning. "A dare," she whispered, reckless and breathless.
Those eyes flickered with something dangerous. Amusement. Interest. Hunger. "A dare," he repeated slowly, tasting the word. His thumb dragged along her lower lip, smearing the faint sheen of gloss. "Do you make a habit of kissing strangers in bars, little one?"
She should have blushed. She should have run. Instead, she smirked. "Only the good-looking ones."
His laugh was soft, dark, and sinful. He leaned down, his mouth brushing her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "You have no idea what kind of fire you've just played with."
The shiver that raced through her spine nearly buckled her knees.
He didn't let her answer. His hand slid down her back, strong and commanding, and he whispered, "You're coming with me."
She knew she should say no. She knew this was reckless, insane, the kind of thing sober Elena would never dare. But she was flushed and buzzing and aching from one kiss, and the way he looked at her, like he'd already stripped her bare in his mind, set her body ablaze.
She nodded.
The corner of his mouth curved in satisfaction. He didn't even spare the club another glance. His hand found hers, his grip firm, leading her through the crowd with an authority that made people step aside without a word. She followed, half-dazed, half-drunk on adrenaline and lust.
Outside, a sleek black car idled at the curb. The driver opened the door the moment Damien approached. Because that was his name, he murmured it against her hair as he guided her into the back seat.
"Damien," she repeated under her breath, tasting it like another glass of whiskey.
"And you?" he demanded, sliding in beside her, his arm a heavy band around her shoulders.
"Elena."
"Elena," he said slowly, like he wanted to brand it into her skin. His hand slid along her thigh, fingers pressing into the hem of her dress. "Pretty name."
The ride blurred past in a haze of heat. His hand never left her, teasing, stroking, climbing higher until she was squirming, biting her lip to keep from moaning in front of the driver. By the time they arrived at the towering hotel and stepped into the elevator, her blood was boiling.
The doors had barely closed before Damien slammed her against the mirrored wall, his mouth crushing hers again. His kiss was bruising, possessive, his tongue sliding against hers until she melted. His thigh shoved between hers, pressing her up, grinding her against the hard muscle until she gasped.
"God, you taste dangerous," he muttered against her lips.
Her nails dug into his shoulders, dragging at his suit jacket. "You started it," she shot back, breathless.
He chuckled darkly. "No, Elena. You started it. And now, I'm going to finish it."
The elevator chimed and they stumbled out, still tangled in each other. Damien barely let her breathe as he unlocked the door to his suite, pushing her inside.
The moment it shut behind them, she was pinned against it, his mouth devouring hers, his hands everywhere. One cupped her breast, his thumb circling until she moaned into his mouth. The other gripped her thigh, dragging it up around his waist so she felt the hard, undeniable proof of his arousal pressing against her.
Her head fell back, lips parted on a whimper. "Damien…"
His teeth grazed her throat, a wicked promise in the scrape. "Say my name again," he ordered, his voice rough.
"Damien," she gasped, her body arching into his.
"Good girl." His hand slid higher, hot and insistent, until her dress was bunched around her hips and she was grinding against him shamelessly. His low groan rumbled through her chest as he pressed harder, letting her feel every inch of his control.
Elena was drunk, yes, but not just on the alcohol. On him. On the way he kissed her like she belonged to him, the way he handled her body like he already knew every secret it held.
And for the first time in her life, she didn't care about tomorrow. All she cared about was this. Him. Tonight.