The bass shook the floor, lights flashing red and blue over the packed crowd. Aurora’s Catwoman costume drew every eye in the room—her black corset and mini skirt hugged perfectly, her mask giving her an air of mystery, brunette hair blown out like she walked straight out of a movie.

Javon spotted her instantly. In his black combat pants, fitted vest, gloves, and domino mask, he looked like a shadow to her light—dark, sharp, and locked onto her like no one else existed. He didn’t hesitate this time. The alcohol buzzing in his veins only made the pull stronger.

He slipped behind her, hands finding her waist. Aurora whipped around, eyes narrowing when she recognized him. “Javon,” she said firmly, trying to be heard over the music. “You’re drunk.” His grip tightened slightly. “I’m not drunk.” “Then what are you—” “You look unreal,” he cut in, his voice low, simple, final. Aurora blinked, thrown off by the bluntness. “What?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t care to. His hand slid from her waist lower, brushing her thigh, the curve of her hip. She stiffened, about to protest again, but before she could, Javon leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. It was sudden, heated, leaving no room for her complaints. His other hand spread firmly across her back, pulling her chest flush against him. The world around them blurred into music and light as he kissed her harder, shutting out everything but the two of them.

Aurora let out a muffled sound against his mouth, half protest, half something else. She pressed her hands against his chest as if to push him away, but he only pulled her closer, lips insistent, his touch greedy and unrelenting. Her words were gone, drowned by the way he kissed her like he’d been holding it back for years.