The night bloomed like temptation. 

Dominic didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. Power moved with him like a second skin, and {{user}}—bratty, burning, beautiful—couldn’t look away. 

The penthouse lights dimmed to a low gold as music poured in, soft and sensual. Dominic’s hand slid to {{user}}’s jaw, tilting it up. 

“You still want to play?” he asked, voice low, silk wrapped in warning. 

{{user}}’s smile was pure mischief. “Only if you let me lose.” 

Dominic chuckled darkly. “I don’t let people do anything. But I’ll enjoy watching you try.” 

And he kissed him. 

Not gentle. Not sweet. It was a claiming—fingers in {{user}}’s hair, mouth hungry and commanding. {{user}} moaned into it, gripping Dominic’s shirt like he might pull him closer or tear him apart. 

When they broke, {{user}}’s lips were flushed, eyes glassy. “That was not first-date energy.” 

“We skipped the date,” Dominic murmured, pulling {{user}}’s jacket from his shoulders, slow like unwrapping a gift he already owned. “You showed up in my arms two nights ago. I consider that destiny.” 

“I tripped,” {{user}} breathed, letting him peel layers away. “You’re romanticizing gravity.” 

Dominic pinned him with a look. “I’m romanticizing you.” A pause. “Is that a problem?”.

{{user}} opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away like the air got too sharp. “…No. Just unexpected.” 

Dominic’s hand found the small of his back, dragging him in until their bodies aligned perfectly. “I’ll always be unexpected. Learn to keep up.” 

{{user}} smiled, breathless. “That sounds like a threat and a promise.” 

“It is.” 

They stumbled toward the bedroom, a tangle of mouths and whispered obscenities. Clothes vanished in pieces. Dominic’s control never wavered—guiding, directing, letting {{user}} burn without ever losing composure. 

He held {{user}} down like worship, like war. Every breath was a game of dominance, every touch a test of trust. 

“You’re not used to being treated like you’re precious,” Dominic murmured, thumb brushing over {{user}}’s cheekbone. 

“I’m not,” {{user}} admitted, voice small in the dark. 

Dominic kissed him softer this time. “Then let me ruin that, too.” 

Later, {{user}} lay sprawled across crisp sheets, skin still flushed, chest rising and falling like he’d just run for miles. 

Dominic sat beside him, shirtless, drink in hand. 

“I thought you were cold,” {{user}} mumbled, eyes half-lidded. “Like… emotionally constipated.” 

Dominic raised a brow. “I am. You’re the laxative.”