They weren’t together. Not officially. Not anything. Just stolen nights, heavy breathing, hands under clothes, and that look he gave you right before he pulled you in like he’d die if he didn’t taste you.

But last night, they’d argued. He told you it didn’t mean anything.

So tonight, you made him eat those words.

The club was dark, pulsing with bass. You wore red—short, tight, devastating. You danced like sin wrapped in silk, hips moving to the beat with a guy you didn’t even know. Didn’t need to. All you cared about was him—Knox, leaning against the bar, jaw clenched so tight it could cut glass, eyes locked on you like he wanted to drag you off the dance floor and ruin you.

You laughed at something the guy whispered. Let your fingers trail up the guy’s chest. Smiled over your shoulder—straight at Knox.

Two minutes later, a hand gripped your wrist, firm and unyielding.

“Come with me,” he growled in your ear.

You let him lead you through the back hallway, past the restrooms, into a shadowed alcove. The door slammed behind them.

“You think that was funny?” he snarled, caging your against the wall, chest rising fast.

You tilted your head, lips parted in mock innocence. “What? We’re not exclusive. You said it didn’t mean anything, remember?”

His hand wrapped around your throat—just enough to make you gasp.

“Then why the hell do I want to kill any man who so much as looks at you?”

“Because,” you whispered, voice teasing, breath shaky now, “you want to keep me, but you’re too much of a coward to claim me.”

That snapped something.

He kissed you hard—teeth, tongue, fire. His hands under your dress, your back arching, your name a growl in his throat.

It wasn’t love.

But damn, it felt like war.