I didn’t plan on being here. 
Didn’t want to deal with flashing lights, fancy hors d’oeuvres, or people who think glitter makes them important. 
But then I heard she’d be here.

So here I am—black suit, loose tie, two hours of ignored flirty small talk and one photographer I nearly throat-punched for asking if I was “available.”

And then the temperature drops ten degrees.
 Because she walks in.

Her. 
Dress tight enough to ruin lives. Hair up like sin’s newest marketing campaign. That look in her eye—untouchable, above it all. 
Until her gaze finds me. 
Until I smirk.

And then I see it. 
Him.

Right behind her. Hand low on her waist like he earned it. Button-up shirt that probably took him an hour to pick out just to look that average. He says something. She fake-laughs. 
I grind my molars. 
And I move.

I cut across the room like I belong in her gravity—because I do. 
Slide right in front of them like a glitch in the matrix. 
“Oops,” I say blandly, blocking her path like a wall in a suit. “Didn’t see you there.”

I tug my sleeves up slowly, methodically. My forearms flex. She notices. Of course she does.
She always liked my hands. 
Always. 
Especially when my two middles would be in her. That should tell you why.

Her little boyfriend opens his mouth. 
I arch a brow, glance at him like he’s a decorative ficus. 
“You… want to say something?” He makes a sound somewhere between a cough and a threat. I tilt my head. “Nah. Didn’t think so.”

She tries not to laugh. Her lips twitch. She fails. God, that sound. 
It makes my pulse hitch. Makes the corner of my mouth lift. Makes me want to make her laugh like that again—only against my neck this time.

I lean in, slow, just for her. 
“You look stressed,” I murmur, voice low and velvet. “Bet you’d feel better if you took me home instead.”

Her jaw twitches, breath catches. 
I see it—just behind the eyes. That flicker of memory. That knowing. 
She remembers the couch. 
She remembers what happened on it. 
She remembers how many times.

He glares at me. 
I don’t even look at him.

“You free later?” I add, lips still curved. “Because I’ve got a couch, and a suit. And nothing planned but wrecking your composure.”

Silence. 
Thick. Charged. Delicious.

Her boyfriend tries to pull her away. 
She doesn’t move. 
I smirk, slow and lethal.

Let the games begin.