The scent of jasmine and vanilla clung to the air, soft yet intoxicating, as Elena Rivers stepped into the dimly lit corridor of Club Éther.
She had never been here before.
She shouldn't be here now.
Her heels clicked softly against polished marble as she walked past velvet walls and golden wall sconces. The hallway glowed in a sensual hush, like a dream soaked in secrecy and silk.
"No names. No questions. No strings," the hostess had told her.
Just one night. Just one man.
Elena's fingers trembled as she adjusted the black lace mask on her face. Her heart beat faster with every step, her nerves high but not from fear. From the anticipation burning low in her stomach like a fuse waiting to explode.
She was doing this for Jamie. Her little brother needed the surgery. She was out of options. This club paid more for one night than she'd earn in three months cleaning rooms at the hotel.
One night. That's all it would be.
As she entered the private suite, time seemed to pause.
The room was bathed in low amber light. A faint trail of sandalwood and leather drifted through the air, earthy and sharp. Music pulsed faintly in the background; slow, rhythmic jazz that curled through the silence like a whisper.
And then she saw him.
He was seated on the edge of the sleek, black velvet couch legs spread, hands resting on his thighs his gaze locked on her like a predator watching his prey. His dark eyes were bottomless, like midnight shadows after rain, sharp and unreadable. The dim amber light traced the sharp angles of his face, revealing a cold, commanding presence that made Elena's breath catch.
He didn't speak.
Neither did she.
Elena's pulse skittered. Her heels felt too tall. Her dress felt too tight. Her thoughts? Completely gone.
He stood slowly, like he had all the time in the world.
"You're late," he said, voice low and smooth, like aged whiskey poured over ice. It sent a shiver crawling down her spine.
She swallowed. "I was told you just arrived."
"I lie often," he murmured. "You'll get used to it."
Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them. Not rushed. Not aggressive. Just… sure. His presence was overwhelming tall, commanding, and wrapped in a tailored black suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent.
"Elena." His voice was low, almost a growl as his fingers traced a deliberate line along her jaw.
She flinched, caught off guard.
He smirked, eyes dark with amusement. "You really thought I didn't know your name?"
Her breath hitched. "I… I thought this was supposed to be anonymous."
"Anonymity's for amateurs." He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You're more fun than that."
A spark flickered deep inside her, equal parts fear and something else she couldn't name.
His scent hit her sharp leather, smoky whiskey, and something darker, like a promise she wasn't sure she wanted to keep.
"You can leave," he said, voice sharp now, a challenge. "But if you stay… don't bother hiding behind that mask."
Elena hesitated, caught between instinct and curiosity.
She could leave. Walk away. Pretend she never came here. But something about him the danger in his eyes, the velvet promise in his voice kept her feet rooted to the floor.
Her fingers lifted to the strap and pulled it loose.
The mask dropped to the floor in silence.
"Beautiful," he said, eyes scanning her face with slow reverence. "But I already knew that."
He touched her then; one hand to her hip, the other brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She expected roughness. Control.
What she got was worship.
His hands moved like smoke over her body, not rushing, just… exploring. Like he was memorizing the slope of her waist, the warmth of her skin.
"You're shaking," he whispered against her neck.
"I don't do this," she said, steady and unflinching, meeting his gaze without a flicker of doubt.
He smiled, slow and sharp. "Good. I don't want something easy."
His lips brushed her collarbone cruelly deliberate as they traced a slow, possessive path upward to the shell of her ear.
"No games," he whispered, voice dark and commanding.
She didn't move. Didn't speak. She simply stayed waiting.
His lips crashed onto hers no softness, no hesitation. It was hunger, need, a claim marked deep and fast. This wasn't a kiss. It was a takeover.
He tasted like danger, like a secret that promised to burn her alive. Like a man who took what he wanted and never asked twice.
The world narrowed to heat and breath, his hand sliding up her thigh with fierce intent, the other ripping into her hair, pulling her closer. Her breath hitched as his fingers found the thin edge of her silk panties silk that suddenly meant nothing.
He yanked back, eyes dark and sharp.
"Say it." His voice was rough, rougher than she expected.
"Say what?" she breathed, dizzy and caught off guard.
"That you want this."
Heat bloomed across her cheeks, a rush spreading through her veins. Her lips parted, and she gave him the only truth she had left to give.
"I want this."
His hands were brutal now, shoving her dress up and off like it was an obstacle. The dim light hit her skin, bare and trembling under his stare. His mouth burned a trail from collarbone to breast, tongue flicking over her nipple. She arched without thinking driven by need she didn't understand but couldn't resist.
His breath was ragged in her ear, mixing with her soft moans.
"You sound perfect," he growled. "I could drown in you."
Suddenly, she was being lifted, silk sheets cool beneath her as he laid her down. The bed creaked under his weight. The soft slap of his jacket hitting the floor, the sharp slide of his belt coming undone all sounds sharpened by the pounding in her chest.
He hovered, eyes dark and hungry, lips parting for another brutal kiss slow, deliberate, claiming.
This wasn't tenderness. It was power. Possession.
He pressed closer, the heat of his body scorching against hers. His breath hitched rough, urgent, smelling of smoke and something darker. His voice dropped low, a rough command cutting through the thick air.
"Get on your knees."
Elena's pulse hammered in her ears, every nerve screaming, but something inside her obeyed. Her legs trembled as she sank down, eyes never leaving his.
He smirked, sharp and cruel. "Good. Now show me you're worth the trouble."
Her hands trembled slightly, but she reached out, fingers fumbling as she slid the button of his trousers undone. The cool air kissed the heat of his skin as she hesitated just for a moment before pulling his zipper down.
His breath hitched, a deep growl vibrating in his chest. "Not bad," he said, voice a low rumble. "But not enough."
She looked up, meeting his cold, assessing gaze. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. You just don't know how to please a man yet." His tone was harsh, sharp-edged. "That's why I'm going to teach you."
His hand grabbed the back of her head with brutal possessiveness, forcing her closer. The scent of his skin filled her senses musk, sweat, power. Her mouth watered with a strange mixture of fear and need.
"Open," he ordered.
Elena obeyed, lips parting as his length pressed gently against her mouth. His eyes never left hers, watching, judging.
She took him in, the rough scrape of his skin against her tongue, the salty tang of sweat. But it wasn't good enough he pulled back sharply.
"Stop." His voice was sharp, impatient. "You're sloppy. Take control."
Her cheeks burned, humiliation and desire flaring hot. She swallowed and tried again, slower, more deliberate.
He growled low in his throat, fingers tightening in her hair. "Better. But still not right."
He pulled her up by the hair, forcing her to look at him. "You don't get to be shy here. Not with me."
Her breath hitched, but the fire in his eyes unyielding, demanding pushed her forward.
Without warning, he flipped her onto the bed, pinning her wrists above her head. The leather of his jacket scraped against her skin, cold and rough.
"You'll learn," he said, voice dripping with dark promise. "I don't do gentle. I do real. I do control. And you're going to beg for every inch."