Chapter1
Sienna
The first thing I noticed was the ink.
Not the face. Not the white dress shirt stretched across broad shoulders. The tattoos. Dark, intricate lines that started at the backs of his hands and disappeared under the cuffs, then reappeared higher, climbing the side of his neck like they owned the skin they marked.
For me, that has always been the sexiest place for a man. The hands. Especially the fingers.
Don’t ask why.
At that moment, my mind was already occupied by the kind of thoughts that made sitting still difficult. One of those thoughts involved a tattooed hand wrapping around my throat while a hard, unrelenting body took me until I forgot my own name.
The reason for the thoughts sat across the crowded bar, drink in one hand, eyes locked on me like he had already decided how the night would end.
He was hot.
I had felt the weight of his stare before I turned. That specific pressure at the back of the neck that said someone was watching and wasn’t bothering to hide it. When I looked, our eyes met, and something low in my stomach pulled tight.
He was beautiful in a way that felt almost unfair. A strikingly handsome face, sharp jaw, plump mouth that looked like it knew exactly how to ruin a woman. Brown eyes that did not look away when I caught him. The complete opposite of the man I had finally cut loose two nights ago.
Blake had been a blank canvas. Soft hands. Soft everything. Cute in a frat-boy way and completely useless when it came to giving me what I actually needed. His idea of intensity had been limited and unsatisfying. Compatibility could not be forced, no matter how convenient the arrangement had been. I was done being polite about mediocre nights.
Which was why I was here. Alone. Looking for something that did not feel safe or polite.
I gave the man a small nod. Come over.
The second I did it, heat flooded my face. What if he laughed? What if he had not been looking at me at all?
Just act normal.
I lifted my glass and took a slow sip, elbows on the bar, swirling the liquid like I had all the time in the world. I was not a lightweight. Not when I had something in my stomach and a clear goal.
I felt him before I heard him.
“Never had a woman call me over before.”
The voice was deep, low, threaded with an accent that did not belong in this city. It slid down my spine and settled low. He sat on the empty stool beside me, close enough that the subtle scent of his cologne reached me. Clean. Expensive. Something darker underneath.
Up close, the tattoos were even better. They covered the back of his hand completely and continued up his forearm until the white shirt hid the rest. The ink on his neck disappeared beneath the collar like a promise.
He was more striking this close.
I raised an eyebrow and took another sip, letting an ice cube rest against my tongue for a second before speaking.
“You were staring. You're scared to make a move or what?”
His mouth tilted. A small, controlled smile that showed perfect teeth and zero apology.
“I was making sure you weren’t waiting for someone. You’re alone.”
I turned on the stool so, my bare knees brushed the side of his thigh. The contact was deliberate. His eyes dropped for half a second, then returned to mine, darker than before.
“Do you care about things like that?”
“No,” he said. “But you probably do.”
“Bold of you to assume anything about me from across a bar.”
His gaze flicked down to the neckline of my dress, then back up. The smirk returned, quieter this time.
“It’s rare seeing a woman who looks like you sitting alone.”
If I had my way, I would have stripped right there on the bar and let him take me into the wood until the entire place forgot how to breathe. My body tightened at the mental image.
“Do you have someone who’ll be upset that you’re sitting here looking at me like that?” I asked. The last time a random girl tried to start a fight because her man decided my cleavage was more interesting than her conversation. I had no interest in repeating the experience.
He leaned in slightly, brushing a strand of my long dark hair behind my shoulder. The simple touch sent a current straight down my spine. I did not know him. I did not care.
“If I do,” he said, voice soft enough that I had to lean closer to hear it, “you have to promise to be mine for the night.”
“And if I don’t?”
I traced one fingertip up the hard line of his thigh. I was not new to this. One-night arrangements had been easier than relationships for a long time. Blake had left me frustrated and restless. I needed the opposite of soft. I needed this.
“Then we have no business continuing this conversation.”
He was straightforward. No games. No unnecessary charm. It was exactly what I wanted.
I smirked. “I was yours the second I saw the tattoos. Name.”
I was twenty-four years old and currently behaving like a woman who had never learned self-preservation.
His lips curved higher. He bit the lower one once, humor and something hungrier moving through those brown eyes.
“Lucian.”
I picked up my clutch, slid a few notes under the empty glass, and stood. Even standing, he was still seated, and the difference in height should have felt strange. It did not. He watched me the entire time as I stepped behind him, leaned down, and let my lips graze the shell of his ear.
“My place or yours, Lucian?”
He did not answer immediately. He simply stood, turned, and pulled me in by the waist. The kiss landed hard and without warning. His mouth was cool from the drink and tasted of mint. I made a sound against his lips that would have embarrassed me if I still possessed the capacity for embarrassment.
The kiss alone had my body reacting hard.
“Yours,” he said against my mouth.
I nodded, still dazed. He took my hand and started leading me through the crowd toward the exit. I forced myself not to smile too widely. I had missed this. The sharp, electric certainty of wanting someone new and knowing the feeling was mutual.
Outside, the night air did nothing to cool the heat under my skin. Lucian’s car was black, expensive, and silent when the doors closed. He did not speak as he drove. Neither did I. The silence felt charged rather than awkward. Every few seconds I caught him glancing at my legs, at the way my dress had ridden higher when I sat.
We pulled into an underground garage beneath a high-rise I did not recognize. Private elevator. No small talk. His hand stayed on the small of my back the entire ride up, thumb moving in slow, deliberate strokes that made it hard to stand still.
The apartment was large, dark, and sparsely furnished. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city lights. I barely registered any of it because the second the door shut behind us, Lucian turned, backed me against it, and put his hand around my throat.
Not hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to make every nerve end pay attention.
His eyes had gone almost black. The predator was no longer pretending to be polite.
“Tell me how you want to be taken, Sienna.”
My rational mind switched off completely.
I smiled under the pressure of his palm and gave him the only answer that felt true.
“However you want.”
His grip tightened just enough to make my pulse hammer against his fingers. The corner of his mouth curved.
“Good girl.”
Then he kissed me like he already owned the rest of the night, and I stopped thinking about anything except the tattoos on the hand that held my throat and the man who was about to ruin me.
