The noise of the club was a blunt instrument, pounding against my skull, but his scent—something expensive, woody, and purely masculine—was an addiction. As I pressed closer, I felt the heat radiating from his chest, a silent invitation that made my own skin ache. He was trying to remain composed, trying to play the sophisticated man with his bourbon and his quiet gaze, but I could feel his pulse quickening where our bodies met. I leaned in, my lips barely skimming the sensitive line of his ear. I didn't just want to talk; I wanted to dismantle him. "This music is too loud," I breathed, my voice dropping into a low, jagged rasp that only he could hear. "And this drink is too slow. I’m tired of sipping, darling. I want to swallow you whole." I felt his breath hitch, and I used the moment to drive the point home, my teeth grazing his earlobe. "I want to get you somewhere quiet," I whispered, my words heavy with intent. "Somewhere where the only sound is us losing our minds. I want to rip this suit off you and feel your weight crushing me into a bed. I don't want gentle. I want you deep, hard, and relentless—until I’m shaking and you can’t breathe. I want to feel every inch of you breaking my composure." I pulled back just an inch, enough to look him in the eye, but close enough that he could still feel the heat of my breath. The bourbon was forgotten. The club was a blur. There was only the hunger, and the man who was about to satisfy it.