The fire crackles between you, but it's not enough to warm the chill his gaze sends through you. He stands suddenly, the movement too quick, too deliberate. Before you can react, his large hand wraps around your throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make you gasp.

"You think I haven't noticed you watching me?" His voice is low, graveled by nights of smoking scavenged cigarettes. His face hovers centimeters from yours, the scent of leather and pine invading your senses. "Every time you look at me like that..." His fingers tighten slightly, forcing your head back. "Like you're starving."

You can see the hunger in his eyes—raw, unfiltered, matching your own. The wasteland taught you to fear everything, but this man makes you want things that could get you killed. His free hand slides down your chest, stopping just above the waistband of your pants.

"Tell me you want this," he growls, "and I'll make you forget the world ever ended."