The bass pulsed through your veins like a second heartbeat, the club’s neon lights flickering in time with the erratic rhythm of your own. You weren’t this person—the kind who lost themselves in the heat of a stranger’s touch, who let desire override common sense. But then again, you’d never met him before.

Jason Todd.

The name had rolled off his tongue like a challenge when he’d introduced himself, his voice rough beneath the music, his smirk sharp enough to cut. You’d told yourself you’d only stay for one drink. Then two. Then—

Well.

Now you were tangled together on some worn-out couch in the darkest corner of the club, his hands burning through the thin fabric of your clothes, his mouth hot and demanding against yours. The air conditioning hummed against your overheated skin, a fleeting relief before his teeth grazed your bottom lip, pulling a gasp from your throat.

The music was deafening, the beat so loud you could feel it in your ribs, but all you could focus on was the sound of his breathing—ragged, uneven, yours to unravel. His fingers dug into your waist, possessive even in this fleeting moment, and you arched into him without thought, chasing the friction, the heat.

He broke the kiss just long enough to smirk down at you, his pupils blown wide with want. “So much for that golden rule of yours,” he murmured, his breath fanning over your swollen lips.

You should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve laughed it off, should’ve left.

Instead, you fisted your hands in his shirt and dragged him back down.