The room thrummed with a heat that wasn’t just from the flickering candles lining the obsidian walls. It was the kind of heat that clawed at your skin, a fever born from the weight of eyes—hungry, predatory—watching from the shadows. I stood at the center of it all, clad in nothing but a sheer black lace bodysuit that clung to every curve of my body like a second skin, the fabric so thin it teased more than it covered. My hair spilled over my shoulders, wild and untamed, and my eyes, sharp as cut glass, scanned the crowd, daring someone to step forward. My name is Brooke, and I wasn’t just a spectator in this den of sin—I was the fucking prize.
I’d come here, to The Vault, with a purpose that gnawed at my insides like a ravenous beast. Three months ago, my ex-lover, Damien Black, had stolen something from me—not just my trust, but a flash drive. Tech magnate by day, depraved hedonist by night, Damien wasn’t just a man; he was a weapon, all sculpted muscle and ruthless charm, with a cock that could break you apart and a mind even sharper. I needed that drive back, and I knew the only way to get close to him again was through the one battlefield we’d always mastered: raw, unbridled lust.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat, and musk, a heady mixture that made my pulse hammer in my throat. The bass of the music vibrated through the floor, syncing with the throb between my thighs as I swayed my hips, letting the crowd’s gaze devour me. Then I saw him—Damien, emerging from the darkness like a god of war, his tailored black suit unbuttoned at the collar, exposing a sliver of inked chest. His jaw was a blade, clenched tight, and his obsidian eyes locked onto me with a ferocity that made my cunt clench. He didn’t just walk; he prowled, each step a promise of domination.
“Brooke,” he rasped, his voice a low growl that sliced through the din, dripping with danger and desire. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet, here I am,” I purred, my lips curling into a defiant smirk as I traced a finger down the swell of my tits, drawing his gaze. “Miss me, Damien?”
His laugh was a dark, jagged thing, and in a heartbeat, he was on me, his massive frame crowding mine against the cold iron railing of the balcony overlooking the writhing bodies below. His hand gripped my hip, hard enough to bruise, while the other tangled in my hair, yanking my head back to expose the frantic pulse at my neck. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he hissed, his breath hot against my skin. “You think you can walk back into my world and not get burned?”
I arched into him, my nipples hardening against the lace as I felt the rigid length of his cock pressing into my belly through his slacks. “Maybe I like the fire,” I taunted, my voice husky, dripping with challenge. “Or maybe I’m here to douse yours.”