The night wasn't over.
Not yet.
I should have left after dessert, thanked him for the dinner, and gone home. But when he suggested a nightcap at a private lounge—one that required no reservations, no credentials, just his name—I found myself saying yes.
The club was unlike anything I had seen. Exclusive. Opulent. Hidden behind a nondescript entrance, only to open into a world of dim golden lighting, plush velvet seating, and a live jazz band playing smooth, seductive melodies.
People moved like whispers in the low light—powerful, untouchable, dangerous.
Lawrence led me through the space with the ease of a man who belonged there. Not a guest. Not a visitor. An owner.
At the center of the room was a dance floor, smaller than most, but intimate. A place where people didn't dance for show. They danced to feel.
A slow, sensual saxophone hummed through the speakers as Lawrence turned to me.
"Dance with me."
It wasn't a question.
I hesitated, glancing around. "I don't—"
He stepped closer, closing the space between us. "You don't what?"
I swallowed. "I don't usually do this."
He smiled. "Then it's time you did."
Before I could protest, his hand slid to my waist, the other capturing my fingers. The moment he touched me, the world around us faded.
It was slow. Too slow.
His grip was firm but effortless, leading me in a way that felt like second nature. Our bodies moved in sync, my heels brushing against his expensive leather shoes.
I inhaled, catching the faintest trace of his cologne—rich, smoky, with a hint of something darker.
My fingers curled slightly against his shoulder. "Do you always get what you want?"
His hand tightened just enough to make me feel it. "No."
My brows lifted. "No?"
He exhaled, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Not yet."
The music swelled, the saxophone crooning its last, aching note. We stopped moving, but neither of us stepped away.
His gaze dropped to my lips.
My breath hitched.
I didn't know who moved first.
One second, I was standing still. The next, his mouth was on mine.
Soft. Controlled. Testing.
I could have pulled away. I should have.
Instead, I melted into him, my fingers tightening in his jacket as he deepened the kiss. His hand slid to the small of my back, pressing me closer, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of my dress.
Heat. Need. A slow unraveling.
When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered just above mine, his breath warm against my skin.
"Now," he murmured, "tell me you don't belong in my world."
I couldn't.
Because at that moment…
I wasn't sure I wanted to leave it.