The Mafia King's obsession

Stranger

Alexander POV

The whiskey was warm in my stomach. The room was soft at the edges. I had lost count after the fifth shot. Maybe six. Maybe seven. The numbers didn't matter anymore.

But something else did.

A pair of eyes.

Staring at me from across the room.

I felt them before I saw them. A weight on my skin. A pull in my chest. The kind of attention that makes your hair stand up even when you're too drunk to stand straight.

I looked around. The bar was crowded. Bodies everywhere. Shadows and smoke and low red lights.

Then I found him.

In the corner. Leaning against the wall. Not drinking. Not talking to anyone.

Just watching.

Me.

He was watching me.

I should have looked away. I should have finished my drink and left. But I didn't look away.

Neither did he.

Minutes passed. I don't know how many. The music changed three times. The bartender asked if I wanted another. I said yes without looking at him.

My eyes stayed on the stranger.

Then I felt it.

A hand on my shoulder.

From behind.

I shrieked.

The sound came out before I could stop it. High. Embarrassing. My whole body jerked. The whiskey sloshed in my glass. I gripped the edge of the bar to keep from falling off the stool.

Then I heard the voice.

"Calm down, kitty."

Hoarse. Seductive. Deep in a way that vibrated somewhere low in my stomach.

I swiveled the stool around so fast I almost tipped over.

And my jaw dropped.

Him.

The stranger from the corner. But close now. So close I could see every detail.

His face was... I didn't have words. I couldn't find words. My drunk brain just stopped working.

He stood there like something pulled straight out of a dream I didn’t know I was having. A chiseled square chin, sharp and strong.

Defined cheekbones sat high on his face, catching the dim golden light from the bar lamps.

His lips were thin but luscious, a soft pink color that made my mouth water. I swore to myself they would taste like fresh strawberries, sweet and tempting.

Stop. What am I thinking?

But I couldn't stop.

His eyes. Blue. Not light blue. Not grey-blue. Deep blue. The kind of blue that seemed to look right through your skin and see the bones underneath. The kind of blue that knew things about you that you hadn't even admitted to yourself.

Long, dark hair framed his face, falling in messy strands that begged to be touched.

And his body.

God, his body.

And his body… damn. Very muscular, every line and ridge clear under the clothes that clung to him, showing off broad shoulders, thick arms, and a chest that looked rock solid. He radiated heat and confidence without even trying.

He was beautiful.

Not handsome. Not attractive.

Beautiful.

In a way that made my throat dry and my hands sweat and my heart forget how to beat properly.

He chuckled.

The sound rolled over me like heat.

"You love what you see?"

Heat flooded my face. I whipped back toward the bar, grabbed my glass with shaky fingers, and threw back another shot. The whiskey burned a hot path down my throat, but it did nothing to settle the wild flutter in my stomach. My cheeks stayed warm, my breathing uneven.

He slid onto the stool beside me, smooth and sure, like he belonged right there in my space. The air felt heavier now, charged.

I didn't move away.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Why do you want to know?"

I meant it to sound cold. Distant. Leave me alone.

But my voice came out wrong. And then, without meaning to, without even realizing I was going to say it, I blurted out "Alex."

The word left my mouth before I could catch it. I wanted to grab it back. Stuff it down my throat. But it was too late.

His lips curved. Just a little. Just enough to make those pink lips stretch into something dangerous.

"Pretty name for a pretty kitty."

“I’m not a kitty,” I shot back, though my voice sounded softer than I meant, almost breathless. The drinks had loosened my tongue and my limbs. I shifted on the stool, moving closer to him until our knees brushed lightly. The contact sent a small spark up my leg.

“Oh, really?” he said, voice dripping with teasing challenge. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as they held mine.

I moved even closer, drawn by the warmth coming off his body and the way his scent wrapped around me. Something dark. Woodsy. Expensive. Not cologne from a bottle. Something deeper.

My heart thudded louder.

He watched me for a moment, then asked again, quieter this time, "How many shots have you had?" he asked.

"Ten."

The word came out in a hoarse whisper. Seductive. I didn't mean for it to sound that way. But the whiskey was in my blood and his eyes were on my mouth and I couldn't think straight.

I leaned closer.

My eyes dropped to his lips.

Those pink lips.

Strawberry.

"What are you doing, Alex?"

He knew. He had to know. But he asked anyway. Like he wanted to hear me say it.

I didn't say anything.

I just kept leaning.

His fingers came up and caught my chin, firm and warm, tilting my face so I couldn’t look away.

His fingers were warm. Rough. Strong

“You’re drunk. And I don’t like taking advantage of drunk people.”

I pouted, lips pushing out as I stared up at him. “I’m not drunk.”

“Yes, you are,” he said again, colder and sharper. The low, commanding tone of his voice hit me hard. It turned me on instantly, sending a rush of heat straight through my body, tightening things low in my belly. My breath caught in my throat.

I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from my chin, my fingers brushing over his skin. “You talk too much.”

The words barely left me before I acted. I surged forward and clashed my lips against his.

At first he didn’t respond. His mouth stayed closed, firm and still. Tension coiled tight in my chest, a mix of frustration and desperate need. I refused to pull back. Instead, I bit his bottom lip, hard enough to sting.

A deep groan escaped from him, raw and hungry, vibrating against my mouth. I took the chance immediately, sliding my tongue inside, tasting him fully, claiming every inch I could reach.

I put both hands on the back of his neck, fingers pushing into his long dark hair, drawing him closer. I kissed him slowly, savoring the heat, the slick slide of our tongues, the way his breath mixed with mine.

My body leaned heavily into him on the stool, knees pressing between his legs now. Every second stretched out, thick with want.

Then his control shattered.

He dragged me by my waist forcefully, strong hands pulling me right off my stool and flush against his hard body. A loud moan escaped me at the sudden movement, at the solid wall of muscle I felt pressed against my chest and thighs.

He kissed me back this time with pure lust and starving hunger, his mouth devouring mine, tongue meeting mine with fierce intensity. The kiss turned deep, urgent, almost bruising in the best way. His hands gripped me tighter, one staying firm on my lower back, the other sliding up to tangle in my hair.

I loved every second of it, the heat, the force, the way he seemed to need this just as badly as I did.

My fingers tightened in his hair as I melted completely into him, lost in the taste and feel of this stranger who made my whole body burn. The tension between us crackled like electricity, pulling tighter and tighter with every second our mouths moved together.

My heart raced wildly, my skin flushed hot, and a dangerous little voice in the back of my head whispered that I was in way over my head.

But I didn’t care.

Things escalated quickly….