The room wasn’t spinning, but the floor certainly didn’t feel like it belonged under her feet. With her heart racing and heels clicking unevenly against the glossy tiles, she pushed the door open — searching for quiet, away from the blaring music and suffocating crowd outside. She didn’t know it was the VIP room. She didn’t know someone was already inside. The air inside was colder. Dimly lit. A soft red hue washed over the velvet couches and polished bar. And sitting in the far corner, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, was him. His eyes lifted the moment the door creaked. He didn’t move. Just watched. Silent. Patient. Like a shadow that had been waiting for her all night.

She took a breath, leaning against the door, blinking to steady herself.

“I—sorry… I thought this was—” Her words slurred slightly, lips parted, unsure whether to walk out or melt into the quiet.

“You’re lost,” he said, voice low, dragging through the room like smoke. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

She nodded slowly, eyes tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers tapped against the glass in his hand. Whiskey, maybe. Or something darker.

He stood — unhurried, tall, terrifying in the most beautiful way. And when he stepped forward, it wasn’t her fear that made her freeze. It was the pull. The kind of tension no high could match.

“You shouldn't be here," he said, stopping just a few inches in front of her. "But I won’t ask you to leave.”

Her breath hitched.

Something about the way he looked at her — not with concern, not even curiosity, but with quiet, dangerous control sent a chill down her spine.

His fingers brushed her cheek not to comfort, but to claim. Slowly, deliberately, he tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, voice laced with heat. “From rain… or from running?”

She couldn’t answer....

Because her body had already started answering for her leaning in slightly, breath shallow, the world outside that door forgotten.And he noticed. Of course he did.

A dark smirk played on his lips as he leaned down, just enough for his breath to touch her skin.

“I don’t take what’s not mine,” he murmured.....“Unless it wants to be taken.”

Her pulse fluttered. Her lips trembled not from fear, but from the war between resistance and the aching thrill of surrender. He didn’t wait for permission.

His lips met hers in a kiss that wasn’t gentle — it was possession. Hunger. A silent demand. Her back met the door, breath stolen, fingers gripping his shirt. And in that moment, with the music outside drowning behind the walls, she forgot everything except how right this felt. And how terribly wrong she hoped it would get. Her breath was ragged now. Not because she was tired — but because of him. His hands didn’t move fast. They didn’t need to. Each touch was deliberate, like he was unwrapping something expensive. Something forbidden. Something he already owned without ever asking. Her soaked top clung to her body, outlining every curve. His eyes moved slowly — not with lust, but with dark amusement. She tried to speak, but he only leaned in closer.

“Shhh…” His thumb brushed her lower lip, gently pressing down “Just feel.”

And she did. The way his fingers trailed down her collarbone. The soft brush of his knuckles grazing the side of her waist. The air between them thickened like the room itself was holding its breath.

She closed her eyes, only for a second. And in that second, his mouth was on her neck not soft. Claiming. His teeth grazed her skin, just enough to make her gasp, just enough to leave a mark he didn’t ask to leave.

“W-what are you doing…” she whispered, barely able to finish.

His chuckle was low, dangerous. “What you clearly want me to.”

She should’ve pushed him away. She didn’t. Instead, her hands moved up to his shirt, trembling fingers brushing against his chest. He was warm, firm, and completely unfazed like he knew exactly how this would go the moment she walked in that door. One hand snaked around her back, pulling her closer flush against him. The other? Already slipping beneath the hem of her top.

“No one's coming in,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear. ....“No one's going to stop this. Not even you.”

And when his mouth crashed onto hers again, she didn’t resist. She responded — deeper this time, hungrier. Her mind fogged, her body arching into his like it belonged there. He spun her, pressing her back to the cold mirror beside the bar. Her gasp hit the glass as his hands roamed lower, more daring now, exploring every inch with a maddening slowness. The reflection only made it worse — made her see what she was becoming in his arms.

Not innocent. Not lost. Just his.

His mouth trailed fire down her neck again, and then lower… his voice rough as his lips brushed her skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “Say it… and I will.”

She didn’t.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, her body trembling under every stolen kiss, every possessive touch. There was no going back. And maybe... she didn't want to. His hands were under her shirt now — not rushing, but exploring. Possessive in the way only a man with no intention of letting go could be. She gasped when his palms met her bare skin. The contrast between his cold rings and his warm touch made her arch into him helplessly. Still, his movements stayed maddeningly slow. Deliberate. Like he wanted her to beg for more.

And maybe she would.

Maybe she already was in the way her nails dug into his back, in the soft sound that escaped her lips every time he kissed just below where she wanted him to. Her soaked shirt was clinging to her skin, becoming nothing but a barrier now. And he knew it.

He pulled back slightly, eyes dark, voice barely above a whisper. "You're trembling."

She looked up at him, breathless...“I-I’m cold…”

He tilted his head, smirking...“No. You're not.”

And in one fluid motion, he tugged the shirt up — slow enough to hear the fabric peel from her skin, fast enough to steal her breath. The air hit her exposed skin like a second shock, but it was his eyes that made her shiver. They didn’t just look at her. They devoured. Still hovering, still not touching what she thought he would, he brought his lips to her shoulder instead — trailing warm, open kisses across her collarbone, her neck, her jaw. She whimpered softly, thighs pressing together on instinct. But he noticed.

“Oh no,” he whispered against her ear, fingers tracing the waistband of her skirt. “You don’t get to hide this from me.”

Her legs weakened at the command, at the way he said this. It wasn’t vulgar. It wasn’t dirty. It was dangerous — in the most addicting way.

He pushed her gently onto the velvet couch in the corner, never breaking eye contact. As she landed, half sprawled, her hair wild and lips parted, he just stood there for a second — watching her like a storm watches silence before it hits. Then he was on her again.

No space. No mercy.

His hands trailed down her sides, lips exploring every inch of skin like she was some secret he was memorizing with his mouth. And every time she moaned softly, breathlessly he’d pause for just a second, soaking it in like it was his reward. Her body, her reactions everything about her was driving him insane. And she knew it. She felt it in the way he moved, in the way his breath caught, in the way he kissed her deeper the moment she whimpered his name. The storm inside the room now matched the one outside — rain hitting glass, breath hitting skin, bodies heating like fire under pressure. And just when she thought he might stop ....

But He leaned in, lips brushing her ear again....“Abhi toh shuru kiya hai…”

His voice against her skin was a sin she wanted to commit over and over again. Her breath hitched at his words Abhi toh shuru kiya hai… And just like that, the air between them shifted Slower, Heavier. Like the moment before thunder cracks the sky.

He leaned back just enough to let his eyes roam freely now — over every inch of her flushed skin, the way her chest rose and fell, the way her lips were parted, waiting. Not resisting. Not unsure. Just waiting. For him. And he didn’t make her wait long.

His hands — skilled, steady, and warm — traced her curves with reverence and hunger all at once. The soaked fabric that clung to her was no match for the way he handled her — like a sculptor studying marble right before creating something unforgettable.

He didn’t rip.

He didn’t rush.

He peeled the layers off her like she was a mystery he was savoring. Piece by piece, her soaked skirt, the fabric of her blouse — they came undone under his touch, each falling aside like petals giving way to the bloom underneath. And he looked — not with lust alone, but something far deeper.

Possession.

Wonder.

Desire rooted in obsession.

She tried to say something — a word, a warning, maybe even a plea — but he silenced her with a single, feather-light kiss to her lips.

“No more words,” he breathed.....“Just feel.”

Then came the avalanche. He kissed her like he was starving lips claiming, breath hot, teeth grazing her bottom lip just enough to draw a gasp. His hands roamed her bare skin, and every place he touched felt like fire and silk collided. Every kiss he placed was lower. Slower. He kissed down her collarbone, to the soft dip of her stomach, until she was gasping with every breath.

And then — he stopped.

Hovering just above, his eyes locked with hers....“You still want this?” he asked, voice low, but surprisingly gentle....“Say it. I won’t touch you again unless you say it.”

She was trembling now — not out of fear, but from the ache pulsing through every inch of her. Her lips quivered as she parted them....“Yes…”

That one word shattered whatever restraint he had left. In a heartbeat, he was on her again — hands under her thighs, lifting, guiding, devouring. Her body arched into him, every nerve ending alive, every breath a moan caught between pleasure and surrender. Outside, the rain still pounded the glass. Inside, the storm had taken new form. She was no longer the girl who wandered into the wrong room. And he — he was no longer just the villain in the dark. He was the fire. And she was letting herself burn.

Inside the room, their world was fire — a chaotic, beautiful blaze of tangled limbs and heat-drenched whispers. Her skin was a canvas, and he painted every inch of it with reverent greed.

Each kiss.

Each touch.

Each slow, intense moment between them was a memory being etched into the folds of their bodies. He wasn’t gentle — but he wasn’t cruel. He was control wrapped in heat. The kind of man who knew exactly what he was doing — and why.

He didn’t stop until she fell apart beneath him, calling his name like it was the only word she’d ever learned. Until her breath came in gasps. Until the only sound left between them was the beat of two hearts syncing in silence. And then... the shift. Her body — exhausted, trembling, undone — softened into his chest, her lashes fluttering low. The fire had been spent, the storm inside now replaced with quiet after glow. She blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes, dazed and delicate. His fingers brushed the hair from her face, and for the first time, he didn’t say a word. He just watched her. Like she wasn’t a girl who stumbled into the wrong room. Like she was exactly where she was meant to be with him. She murmured something unintelligible, intoxication and exhaustion pulling at her like gravity.

“I’m tired...” she whispered, voice small, lips barely moving.

He pulled the velvet throw from the edge of the couch and wrapped it around her bare shoulders. With one arm, he guided her down beside him, her head finding the hollow of his chest like it belonged there. His fingers absentmindedly traced circles on her back — slow, calming, steady. And just before her eyes closed, she felt it. A kiss, Soft Barely there Pressed to her forehead. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just real.

As her breathing evened out and sleep stole her away, he stayed awake for a while — holding her like something fragile, like something dangerous he never thought he'd want to protect.

She didn’t know his name.

Didn’t know his world.

But tonight, in the quiet aftermath of chaos, she was his. And whether she remembered it tomorrow or not...He knew he never would forget.