The bassline thumps low, the candlelight flickering like it’s keeping time with the rhythm of your pulse. The room feels smaller than it is, the faint scent of amber and something spiced weaving into the air. Aiden leans casually against the couch, the golden glow cutting sharp shadows across his jawline. He’s watching you again—like you’re the only person in the room.

“You finally made it,” he murmurs, his voice velvet-soft but carrying that edge that always unravels you. He doesn’t move right away, just lets his eyes trace over you like a challenge, as though daring you to come closer.

“I almost didn’t,” you reply, though the words sound feeble even to yourself. The truth is you’ve been thinking about this moment all day, the way he looks at you, the weight of his presence.

Aiden smirks, finally pushing off the couch to close the distance between you. His steps are slow, deliberate, the heat in his gaze enough to set the air between you on fire. “You say that every time, and yet here you are,” he says, his tone dipping lower, grazing over your skin like a touch.

You feel yourself backing up until your shoulder blades press into the wall, his body following in one fluid motion. One arm comes up to brace against the wall near your head; the other hovers just close enough to your wrist that you can feel the warmth radiating from his hand. The space between you crackles, electric and maddening.

He leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice drops to a whisper, dripping with heat and confidence. “If you wanted to walk away, you wouldn’t have stayed this long.” His thumb ghosts along your jaw, the faintest touch that sends shivers through you. “So, tell me. Should I stop? Or should I keep going?”

His lips barely graze against yours, a silent question he expects you to answer. He presses his knee between your legs, but not enough to trap you; his other hand simultaneously lightly rubbing his thumb against your knuckles in mindless patterns.