Episode One: Invitation
The first time I saw her, she was wearing red—tight enough to be a warning, soft enough to be an invitation.
She didn’t belong in that club. Too sweet, too clean. While the others bled desperation and sprayed cheap perfume, she stood still at the bar like she didn’t notice the eyes on her. Or maybe she did, and didn’t care. Either way, I watched her. I always watch what I want first.
I lit a cigarette I didn’t need. Let the smoke curl upward as I studied her.
She sipped her drink too slow. Her dress was cut high on the thigh, but she kept pulling it down like she regretted it. Rookie move. That told me everything I needed to know—someone dared her to come here, someone dressed her up and pushed her into a world she wasn’t ready for. And now she was stranded in a room full of sharks, faking confidence.
She didn’t know yet—I was the worst shark in the tank.
I approached without thinking. Or maybe I always think. Control is just a well-rehearsed performance.
“Let me guess,” I said, leaning close so only she could hear. “You’ve been here fifteen minutes and already regret coming.”
She turned. Big eyes. Not surprised, but not impressed either. “That obvious?”
I smiled. “Only to the men who know what regret looks like.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “And you’re an expert?”
“No,” I said, sipping her untouched drink. “I’m the cause.”
She didn’t pull away. She should have. But I saw it—just a flicker—in her expression: that slow burn curiosity. That dangerous curiosity women get when they see something they know will ruin them, and want it anyway.
I offered my hand. “Damien.”
She hesitated. “Ava.”
I didn’t need to ask her last name. I wouldn’t care tonight. I wasn’t here for details. I was here for skin and surrender.
But Ava... Ava was going to be different. I could feel it in the way she didn’t melt instantly. She kept her spine straight. She had pride, just enough to be fun to break.
“Come upstairs,” I said, no room for questions.
She raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Come upstairs. Or don’t. But I won’t ask twice.”
It was a power play, and she knew it. Her pride made her hesitate, but her thighs tensed—nervous or excited, I couldn’t tell yet. Didn’t matter. Both worked in my favor.
After five seconds, she said, “Lead the way.”
I smiled like a man who already owned her.
The upstairs suite was soundproofed for sin. Velvet walls, no windows, dim lights. A place built for secrets. I poured us both a drink even though I knew she wouldn’t finish hers. She was already high on adrenaline.
“You always bring strangers up here?” she asked, standing by the door like she might still run.
“Only the interesting ones,” I said, handing her a glass. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch you until you beg.”
“I don’t beg.”
“They all say that.”
She drank—fast this time. Maybe to prove something. Maybe to dull the edge of fear. But her hands were shaking, and I liked it.
“Why me?” she asked, voice tight.
“Because you walked into a lion’s den wearing perfume made of innocence and bad choices,” I said, stepping closer. “And I like the sound of things that break when I touch them.”
She should have slapped me. Or screamed. Or left.
Instead, she swallowed hard and said, “What if I don’t break?”
I leaned in, close enough to smell her shampoo. “Then I’ll keep you longer.”
Ava was trembling now, but she hadn’t moved. That’s the thing about fear—it’s only effective when paired with arousal. I’d mastered that balance. I didn’t need to force anyone. I never did. I made them want the fall.
“Take off your dress,” I said.
She stared.
“No one’s watching,” I added. “Just me. And you already said yes when you followed me up here. You know that, right?”
She hesitated one last time—then pulled the zipper down.
Her skin was pale under the low light, dotted with goosebumps. I drank her in slowly. Not like a man appreciating beauty. Like a man who’d been starved.
“Lie down,” I said. She did.
When I finally touched her, I didn’t rush. I dragged fingers across her thigh like I had all the time in the world. And she let me. She sighed, arched, whispered something like my name. But I didn’t let her come. Not yet. Not until she understood I was the one who controlled every breath, every twitch, every damn moment from this night on.
Afterward, she lay silent. No tears. Just staring at the ceiling like she didn’t know what she’d just done.
I pulled her close, brushing hair from her cheek. “You should go before I decide I want more.”
“You got what you wanted,” she murmured.
“Did I?” I said. “That was just a taste.”
Her breath hitched.
“You’ll come back,” I said against her neck. “Because you’ll hate me by morning, but you’ll still be wet for me by night.”
I stood and pulled my shirt on. She didn’t speak. She just watched me like she was still processing who she was now.
I left her in that bed. Half-dressed. Skin marked. Mind f****d.
She didn’t know it yet, but I had no intention of letting her go.
She was already mine.
