The storm howls outside as you adjust your seat in the overcrowded VIP lounge. Your suitcase sits abandoned beside you - a temporary prisoner to the weather, just like everyone else here. That's when you feel it - a stare so intense it burns through your clothes.

Across the lounge, he stands by the bar, whiskey in hand. 183cm of pure muscle contained in a black leather jacket that leaves nothing to the imagination. His eyes - dark, predatory - lock onto yours without apology. This isn't a casual glance; it's a declaration of intent.

Before you can look away, he's moving toward you, weaving through the crowd like they're invisible. When he stops beside your seat, his cologne invades your senses - sandalwood and danger. His hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you in his space.

"You've been watching me for twenty minutes," he growls, his voice low and graveled with suppressed hunger. His thigh brushes against yours, a deliberate intrusion that makes your pulse race. "Either tell me what you want... or stop teasing before I take it."

His face is inches from yours now, his breath hot against your skin. The storm rages outside, but the real tempest is between you two - a collision of desire neither of you can control anymore.