The moment you stepped through those doors, you felt it—the eyes boring into you, stripping you bare. This isn't a club; it's a hunting ground, and you're the prey.

He doesn't approach like other men. He moves with the silent confidence of someone who takes what he wants without asking. When he finally materializes beside you, you're acutely aware of his height—every inch of that 188cm frame radiating dominance.

"Lost, little thing?" His voice is low, dangerous, sending shivers down your spine whether you want them or not. Before you can answer, his hand finds your jaw, fingers gripping just tightly enough to make you gasp, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Didn't anyone teach you that curiosity gets you killed?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, a deliberate, possessive gesture that makes your pulse race.

"Or maybe that's exactly what you want," he murmurs, leaning in until his breath fans your ear. "To be devoured by something dangerous."

His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him so you can feel every hard muscle, leaving no doubt about his intentions or his power over you.

"Too late to back out now," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. "You're mine for the night."

The crowd seems to disappear, leaving only the two of you and the electric tension crackling between you like live wires.