CHAPTER 1
Rain pounded the city in ceaseless waves, stripping sidewalks of color and turning theminto sheets of
neon and shadow. She shouldn't have been here tonight. Shouldn't have been here in this
neighborhood. Shouldn't have crossed the threshold into The Velvet Hour, where the air reeked of
whiskey and desire. But when she saw him—tall, wide-shouldered, with an eyes-touch that made her
skin prickle—she knew she wasn't going out alone. He watched her from the bar, his eyes tracing the
curve of her rain-slicked throat, the way her dress clung to her thighs. She felt it like fingers skimming
her skin. When she finally met his stare, he didn't smile. Just lifted his glass in silent invitation. Dangerous, her mind whispered. She sat beside him anyway. His voice was rough velvet. "You're
soaked." She let her knee brush his. "I prefer the rain." His fingers gripped his drink. "I can see that." The talk was a waltz—flirtation leavened with something sinister. Every sentence oozed with
innuendo, each look a vow. When his hand came to rest on her thigh, heat blazed straight to her
center. "Tell me what you desire," he whispered, his thumb circling high on her thigh. She leaned
toward him, her lips brushing his ear. "I want you to destroy me." That was enough. They didn't get as
far as a room. The alleyway behind the bar was rain-slick, the brick scraping her back as he leaned her
against it, his mouth slamming into hers. His hands were all over her—twisted in her hair, on her hips, slipping under her dress to reach inside and find her already wet for him. "Fuck," he rasped against
her throat. "You're wet." She swallowed hard as his fingers forced themselves inside her, his thumb
tracing the edge of her clit with merciless precision. "Not nearly as much as I'll be," she panted. He
chuckled, loud and dirty, before going down on her. The rain fell over them as he pushed her panties
out of the way and ate her like a starving man. Her moans were drowned out by the storm, her fists inhis hair as he licked and sucked her to the brink—then retreated, leaving her shaking. "Not yet," he
growled, standing up to take her mouth again. "I want you screaming when you come." He had one
hand unbuckling his belt, the other holding her throat just hard enough to make her whimper. Whenhe finally pushed into her, it was with a grunt that resonated through every cell of her body. She was
constricted, so constricted, and he fucked her like he wanted to destroy her for the use of any other
man. Rain and sweat combined with their skin slapping together in a cadence as raw as the thunder
above. She climaxed first, her fingers clutching his shoulders as ecstasy tore through her. He followedwith an oath, spilling inside her with a shudder. They lay there, heaving, held tight together in the rain. No names. No vows. Only the type of night that would leave its mark. As she walked away, her legs
still shaking, she knew one thing: She'd return tomorrow. And he'd be waiting. CHAPTER 2
The next night, the storm had passed, but the city still hummed with restless energy. She told herself
she wouldn't go back. She went back. The Velvet Hour was quieter tonight, the air thick with the scent of bourbon and something darker—anticipation. And there he was, leaning against the bar like he'd been waiting. Like he knew. Their eyes locked, and his smirk was a slow, wicked thing. "Knew you'd miss me." She slid onto the stool next to him, thigh against his. "Perhaps I simply enjoy the whiskey here." He leaned in close, warm breath in her ear. "Liar." His hand wrapped around her knee, fingers skimming up with slow, intentional care. She should have
halted his progress. Instead, she opened her legs a little way for him to discover how wet she already
was. His growl was almost too soft to hear. "You're fucking soaked." She bit down on his jaw. "Your fault."
They skipped the drinks this time around. His hold on her wrist was like steel as he jerked her into therear hallway, pinning her to the wall. His lips slammed into hers, teeth and tongue and starvation. Shebreathed into his kiss as his hands jerked up her dress, fingers pushing beneath the lace of her panties. "You considered this?" he growled, tracing his fingers around her clit with hot, teasing passes. "Thought about me fucking you again?"
"Yes," she hissed, lifting into his touch. "Where?" His tone was a promise of darkness. "In your bed? In the shower? Or here, where anyone
might walk by and witness just how much you like it?" She moaned as his fingers invaded her, his thumb continuing that infuriating rhythm. "Anywhere. Everywhere." He kissed her hard, swallowing her whimpers as she climaxed on his hand. Before she could even get
a breath, he turned her around, his chest rammed against hers. The unzipping of his belt sent a newwave of heat pulsating through her. "Tell me you want it," he growled, his cock rubbing between her thighs. She pushed back against him. "I want it. Now." He didn't wait. A single deep, brutal thrust and she screamed out, her nails raking the wallpaper. He
was relentless, his hold on her hips bruising tight. Each snap of his hips sent her up, his growls in her
ear raw and filthy. "You're taking me so fucking hard," he growled, nipping her shoulder. "Gonna come inside you once
more. Gonna make sure you're feeling me for days." The words sent her over. She broke with a cry, her body squeezing around him as he rode behind her, his semen shooting into her with a grunt. They lingered thus for a while, panting, his forehead on her shoulder blades. Then he withdrew, pushing himself back in with a grin. She turned, still unsteady on her legs. "Same time tomorrow?" His was a wicked laugh. "Counting on it." She stepped out, aware of one thing—this was no longer a night.
It was an addiction. CHAPTER 3
Night Three. She wore the black lace tonight—the one that hugged her curves like a second skin, the one that
made his gaze turn predatory when she walked in. He was already at their usual corner, two glasses of amber liquid waiting. His eyes raked over her as
she approached, lingering on the slit in her dress that revealed far too much thigh. "You're late," he murmured, pushing her drink toward her. She sipped slowly, eyes on him around the rim. "Had to be certain you were desperate enough." A low laugh. "Oh, darling, I've been desperate since the second you walked away."
His hand crept up her bare leg under the table, fingers caressing the top of her lace panties. She
nipped her lip, moving in closer. "Tell me," he growled, his thumb drawing slow circles, "did you touch yourself last night? Thinking of
me?" Her breath caught. "Maybe."
"Did you come?" She arched into his touch. "Twice." His fingers bit into her skin, possessive. "Good girl." They barely made it out of the bar before he had her pressed against the alley wall, his mouth
claiming hers in a bruising kiss. The city noise faded—there was only the slick sound of their lips, the
sharp gasp when his hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back. "You're mine tonight," he whispered against her throat, teeth grazing her pulse. "Every inch of you." She whimpered when he went to his knees, pushing her dress up over her waist. The chill of the brick
pressed into her back, but she hardly felt it—not when his tongue was trailing a burning stripe up her
inner thigh, not when he hooked her panties to one side and groaned at how wet she was. "Fuck," he said, before going in. Her knees almost gave way. His mouth was brutal, sucking her clit, fucking her with his tongue, his
fingers curled inside her just so. She grabbed his hair, her moans bouncing off the alley walls. "Please—"
"Please what?" He gazed up, lips shining. "Use your words." She pulled him up, kissing him hard, tasting herself on his lips. "I need you inside me. Now." He didn't make her ask twice. Their hotel room was a whirl of knotted limbs and bitten-off oaths. He fucked her up against the
window, her hands smearing the glass as the city lights smeared below. Then on the bed, her legs
over his shoulders, his thrusts penetrating enough to make her see stars. Later, when she was boneless and breathless, he dragged her into the shower, pressing her against
the tiles as the water sluiced over them. "You're ruining me," she gasped as his hands roamed her soap-slick body. He nipped her earlobe. "Good." Night Four. She found him at the bar again, but this time, there was no playful smirk. His eyes were dark, intense. "Your place or mine?" he asked, voice rough. She didn't respond. Just took his hand and pulled him out into the night of neon. Neither of them had any idea how long this would go on. But for tonight, the habit was too good to break. CHAPTER 4
She didn't appear. He sat at their regular table, drumming his fingers against the whiskey glass, his eyes darting to the
door with each opening. The bartender rolled her eyes—she's not here, man—but he waited all the
same, nursing his drink until closing time. Perhaps he'd dreamed it all. Perhaps she'd been a spirit. Then his phone vibrated. Roof of the Sinclair. Now. His blood thundered. The elevator ride up felt endless, his pulse hammering as the numbers climbed. When the doors slidopen, the night air hit him—cool, electric. And there she was, silhouetted against the skyline, her
dress sheer under the moonlight, her hair loose and wild. "You left me waiting," he said, stepping closer. She turned, her smile slow, dangerous. "I wanted to see if you'd come." He bridged the space with two steps, holding her waist, his mouth slamming down on hers. She
arched her body against his, her fingers curling in his shirt, her body softening into him.
"You taste like sin," he growled against her lips. She bit down on his bottom lip. "You haven't seen anything yet." Then she was backing away, going toward the edge of the roof, her hand working the straps of her
dress. His breath stilled as the material slid down her body, at her feet puddling. Christ. Black lace and skyline radiance minus everything else, she was a vision. "Tell me what you want," she spoke softly, her hand tracing down her own throat, over her breasts. He was on her before she had gotten the words out. The city lay below them, infinite and thrumming, but up here, there was only her—her moans, her
fingers digging into his back, the sound of her gasping his name when he hefted her up onto the ledge, her legs around his waist. "Fuck," she whined as he pushed into her, the wind churning in her hair. He held her closer, thrusts hard and bruising. "Who do you belong to?" Her response was a scream as she reached her peak, her body tightening around him, her head
thrown back against the stars. He followed her into the abyss, his teeth digging into her shoulder as pleasure tore through him. When they were finally breathing again, she drew patterns with the marks she'd made on his skin. "Tomorrow?" she asked. He kissed her, slow and dirty. "Try and steer clear." CHAPTER 5
The storm howled outside, transforming the city into a glittering maze of neon and darkness. She
shouldn't be here—she wasn't supposed to be in this neighborhood, in this dark bar where the scents
of whiskey and depravity lingered. But the rain had forced her in, and now, stripping away her soddencoat, she could feel the force of his gaze like a bodily contact. He was all darkness and sharp edges, lounging in the corner booth like a predator who'd already
chosen his prey. His eyes—black as the storm outside—tracked every drop of water that slid down
her throat, every shift of her body beneath her clinging dress. She should have walked away.
Instead, she walked straight toward him. "You're not from around here," he said, voice rough as gravel. Not a question. An observation. She raised a brow, slipping into the chair opposite him. "Yours?" His lips twisted, slow and intentional. "Not anymore." The way he stared at her—like he wanted to eat her alive on the sticky bar table—caused the heat topool low in her stomach. She crossed her legs, slow on purpose, and met his gaze drop to the slit in
her dress, where skin showed. "What is your name?" she asked, but names weren't important tonight. He leaned in, the smell of leather and something darker encircling her. "Does it matter?" No.
It didn't. A drink became two, became his hand creeping up her thigh under the table, his thumb on the wet
lace between her legs. She gasped, her fingers digging into his wrist, but she didn't tell himto stop. "Make me stop," he snarled in her ear, his breath scalding. She didn't. She pulled him into the alleyway behind the bar, where the rain hammered against the pavement andthe city's pulse drummed around them. He pushed her against the brick wall, his body hard and
unyielding, his mouth slamming down on hers like he was starving for her. She nipped his lip. He groaned, holding her hips so hard they would bruise. "Fuck," he hissed, tearing her dress open with one rough tug. The cold air hit her skin, but his hands
were hotter, rougher, dragging her panties down just enough to slide two fingers inside her. She cried out, her head hitting the wall as he worked her with ruthless precision. "You're so fucking
wet," he muttered, his teeth scraping her neck. "All for me?"
She didn't reply—merely clawed at his belt, releasing his cock, her hand working him until he swore
again. Then he was hoisting her, slamming her back against the wall, and driving into her with one harsh
thrust. She screamed. The rain covered it. They didn't make it to her apartment. They fucked in the alley, against the bathroom sink of the bar, in the back of a cab with the driver
acting like he hadn't heard her moans. Every touch seared, every drive destroyed her, and when he
finally spilled inside her—her legs around his waist, her name a prayer on his lips—she knewshe'd
never forget this night. Dawn came too soon. He was gone before the dawn was up, leaving behind only the memory of his hands, his mouth, his
cock opening her up. And one breathless promise on her skin before he vanished in the rain: "Find me again." She would. Oh, she would.