Seven minutes with my boyfriend's uncle

"Truth or dare, birthday girl?" Mia's voice cut through the pounding bass, sharp and hungry for a show. I stared at the green bottle resting on the floor. Its neck pointed directly at my chest, steady as a loaded weapon. Twenty faces circled us, slick with sweat and cheap perfume. Red cups crunched under shifting sneakers. The air hung thick with spilled beer and reckless energy. Jake sat three bodies to my left, his arm draped over Chloe's bare shoulder. He caught my stare and offered a lazy shrug. She sat next to me, babe. The lie rolled off his tongue smoother than whiskey. I turned back to Mia, feeling the heat crawl up my neck. "Pass. Give me a dare instead." A sharp whoop erupted from the crowd. Chloe giggled and pressed her chest against Jake's bicep. He did not push her away. Mia clasped her palms together, eyes glittering with wicked delight. "Fine. Seven minutes in heaven. You know the drill." She snatched the bottle before anyone could object. Her wrist flicked, sending the glass spinning across the sticky wooden planks. The room swallowed its breath. The clatter faded into a slow, deliberate wobble. It teetered once. Twice. Stopped. Pointed straight at the far corner. Silence crashed down like a wave. Every pair of eyes followed that invisible line across the room. My gaze traveled with them, past the sagging couch, past the empty pizza boxes, past the strobe of multicolored lights. He stood against the wall, half-hidden in shadow. Dark suit. Loosened crimson tie. A tumbler of amber liquid balanced between his fingers. He was not dancing. Not laughing. Not scrolling through his phone like the other adults who had crashed this party to "supervise." He was watching me. Damon. Jake's uncle. The one who owned the company that signed Jake's father's paychecks. The one who had walked in an hour ago, nodded at no one, and claimed the darkest corner of the room like it belonged to him. Our eyes locked across the chaos. A slow, deliberate curl at the corner of his lips. Not smug. Not warm. Just... interested. Like I was the first thing worth looking at all night. "Absolutely not." Jake shot to his feet, knocking over his cup. Foam dribbled across the floor. "My uncle? That's sick. That's—" "Fair game," Mia interrupted, her voice dripping with glee. "He's a guest. The bottle was chosen. Lily, are you in or are you out?" Jake's glare burned into my skull. Say no. Say it right now. Fix this. But I remembered his thumb tracing Chloe's bare arm. I remembered him forgetting my birthday until two hours ago. I remembered the dozen texts he sent to her while sitting beside me on this very couch. My spine straightened. I stood up. My knees shook, but my feet carried me forward. "Closet. Now." Damon did not move. He lifted his glass and took a long, slow sip. The liquid caught the light like melted gold. He set the tumbler down on a nearby shelf. Unfolded his arms. Pushed off the wall in one fluid motion. "You sure about this, little one?" His voice rolled across the room, low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet. It sliced through the bass and silenced the whispers. Everyone froze. Jake's face cycled through red, purple, and white. I walked toward Damon until my chest nearly brushed his. The warmth of his body hit me first. Then the scent—cedar, leather, something smoky and expensive. "Afraid?" My whisper barely escaped my throat. He laughed. Quiet. Dark. A sound that promised nothing good. "You have no idea." He turned and strode toward the narrow hallway. I followed. My pulse slammed against my ribs. Every step felt heavier than the last. He stopped in front of a white door, pulled it open, and revealed a cave of hanging coats and darkness. He stepped inside. Turned. Extended his palm toward me. "Last chance." I stared at his hand. Broad. Veined. Steady as stone. I took it. He pulled me into the void and clicked the door shut behind us. Absolute blackness swallowed every inch of space. His chest pressed against mine. His breath fanned across my forehead, warm and steady. The fabric of his suit whispered against my bare arms. "Seven minutes." His murmur vibrated through the dark. "What is your plan here?" I could not see his face, but I felt him shift. His palms landed on the wall behind my head. Caging me between his arms. Trapping me in heat and shadow. Jake would have fumbled in the dark. Clumsy. Impatient. But Damon moved like he owned the shadows. Every breath was measured. Every touch is deliberate. That quiet control was more terrifying than any scream. "Jake is your nephew." My voice cracked. "I am aware." "He will kill you for this." "He will not touch me." He leaned closer. His lips brushed the shell of my ear. "The question, Lily, is what you actually want." I wanted to wound Jake. I wanted to feel powerful. I wanted to erase the humiliation burning in my chest. His thumb found my chin. Lifted my face toward his voice. "Tell me." His nail traced the curve of my lower lip. "Did you follow me in here to teach that boy a lesson?" "Yes." "Then we have a problem." His grip tightened on my waist. "If you wanted revenge, you could have slapped him and walked out. But you came to me." I opened my mouth to deny it. He pressed a finger to my lips. "I do not share," he murmured. "But I also do not trap women who are not sure. So tell me the truth, Lily—are you hiding in here, or are you brave enough to want something real?" He waited. Let me breathe. Let me choose. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I want to forget he exists." Damon's thumb traced my jaw. "Then let me be the one you remember instead. Just for tonight. Look at me. Only me. And if you want to stop, you say the word. I will walk you out myself." My lungs stopped working. The door rattled behind us. Jake's muffled roar echoed through the wood. "Open this door right now! Lily, I swear to God!" Damon did not flinch. Did not blink. His eyes stayed locked on mine. "You have five seconds," he whispered. "Five. Four. Three." Jake pounded harder. The hinges groaned. "Two." I grabbed the front of Damon's shirt. Silk. Expensive. Worth more than my entire wardrobe. "One." I yanked him down and crushed my mouth against his. His hand sank into my hair. His lips parted, hot and demanding. He tasted like expensive whiskey and midnight decisions. His free arm wrapped around my waist and hauled me flush against his chest. I felt every hard line from him. Every coiled muscle. Every controlled breath that turned ragged. Jake's screaming dissolved into distant static. Damon pulled back just far enough to speak. His forehead rested against mine. "That is not how you forget someone." "Then show me." He laughed again. That same low, broken sound. "Count to ten," he breathed. "And I will." He kissed me again. Deeper this time. His tongue swept across my lower lip. His fingers tangled tighter in my hair. My back arched against the wall. A moan slipped from my throat before I could stop it. Someone slammed their fist against the door. "We are opening it!" Damon pulled back. His chest heaved against mine. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, wiping away the evidence. "Seven minutes," he murmured. "And I can still hear you breathing." The door swung open. Blinding light flooded the closet. Jake stood in the frame, chest heaving, fists clenched. Behind him, a wall of gaping faces. Mia held her phone high, recording every frame. But Damon did not move. His arms stayed locked around my waist. His eyes stayed fixed on mine. And every single person in that hallway saw my ruined lipstick smeared across that smug, dangerous mouth. I did not look away. Neither did he.