The Enemy I Fell For

Chapter 3

I stand slowly, the warmth of the whiskey settling low in my tummy as I hold his gaze for another second too long. Around us, the club continues as though nothing has changed, music pulsing through the walls, conversations blurring into each other, glasses clinking softly in the background, but my focus has narrowed entirely to him.

He doesn’t wait for my answer. He simply turns and starts walking, not even looking over his shoulder to see if I am following.

Something about that should annoy me. The assumption, the certainty that no one could resist him.

Instead, I find myself stepping after him without hesitation. Obviously he is right in his assumptions, I inwardly sigh at myself.

He moves through the crowd with the same quiet authority he seems to carry effortlessly, people shifting aside before they’re even fully aware they’re doing it. I follow him past the main bar, toward the darker side of the club where the lighting fades and the music dulls slightly beneath the heavier bass. He reaches an unmarked door near the back corridor I noticed when I first walked in and pushes it open without breaking stride.

Cool air hits my skin instantly as I step outside behind him.

The door shuts with a heavy click, muffling the music almost completely. The sudden quiet feels sharp after the noise inside. Out here, the city sounds distant, faint traffic somewhere beyond the alley, the low hum of life continuing blocks away, the hum of electrical units running, but none of it reaches us properly.

Inside had been crowded, loud, full of movement. Out here I am all too aware that it is just him.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

I turn toward him slowly, my pulse uneven from the alcohol that seems to have been further activated by the fresh cool air, but not only that, I know its the tension that’s been building since the second I noticed him across the room.

He’s already looking at me. But it cannot be described as casually this time.

He is focused.

The look in his eyes now is heavier than before, stripped of the teasing edge that had coloured our conversation inside. It settles over me with enough intensity to make my breath catch slightly.

I open my mouth, not entirely sure what I’m about to say.

I never get the chance.

He steps toward me in one smooth movement, closing the distance between us in one clean stride before the thought can fully form in my mind. One of his hands settles firmly against my waist, steady and controlled as he pulls me toward him.

The contact sends heat rushing instantly through me. Nothing about his touch is rough. Nothing careless or impulsive, it feels certain and controlled.

Like he decided this was happening long before we stepped outside.

My body reacts to his touch before my mind catches up. Instead of pulling away like my mind screams at me I should, I lean into him instinctively, my hands finding the front of his jacket as the warmth of him surrounds me. He keeps me close, his body angled over mine just enough to make me feel boxed in without truly trapping me there.

It’s protective, dominant and dangerous all mixed up in one inextricable mess.

His head dips slightly towards my own, close enough that I feel the warmth of his voice near my ear when he speaks.

“You don’t hesitate, do you?”

The question sends a shiver down my spine.

I tilt my head just enough to meet his eyes again. “Neither do you.”

Something shifts in his expression at that.

His hand tightens at my waist before sliding upward just enough to guide rather than ask. The movement is deliberate like every inch of space between us belongs to him already. His fingers brush lightly beneath my chin, tilting my face upward.

The eye contact hits differently now, f**k it’s intense.

The city, the club, the music, all of it just fades beneath the weight of this moment stretching between us. He watches me carefully before he moves, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll stop him.

But I don’t.

The kiss comes instantly after that.

It’s deep and intense built from every look across the table, every dangerous pause in conversation, every moment of tension neither of us acknowledged inside. Heat rushes through me so quickly it's dizzying. His hand remains firm at my waist as he pulls me closer, controlling the pace effortlessly, like restraint comes naturally to him even now, eve when I feel like I am losing control entirely.

I should probably slow this down.

But instead of listening to my sensible brain my body takes the lead as I kiss him harder.

The cool brick wall presses against my back a second later as he shifts us both, his huge body pinning mine between him and the wall with force, not enough to frighten me, but enough to make my pulse spike sharply. His mouth moves against mine with a kind of consuming intensity that leaves no room for careful thought.

This isn’t soft, it isn’t hesitant.

It feels reckless in a way I didn’t expect from him.

My fingers tighten against his jacket automatically, pulling him closer instead of away as heat floods through me faster than I can process it. One of his hands slides higher along my side.The world narrows painfully around the feeling of him.

The pressure of his body against mine. The warmth of his hand at my waist. The rough edge of his breathing mixing with my own.

I stop thinking entirely. Here is no more room for analysing, for caution. No careful assessment of exits or threats or consequences.

Just heat. Just him. Just need.

And somehow that’s the most dangerous thing of all.

His control never fully slips, even then. There’s precision in the way he touches me, in the way he moves, like he’s deciding exactly how far this goes every second it continues. The realisation sends another sharp wave of heat through me, like him having the power in this excites me.

Then suddenly he stops.

He doesn’t step away from me, the pressure of his body is still there, but my lips still ache for his touch.

His forehead rests briefly against mine as both of us catch our breath, the space between us still charged, still far too close. His hand remains firm against my waist, holding me there as though he hasn’t entirely decided whether to let me go.

His jaw tightens slightly as if he is in an internal fight with himself.

“You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

The words land somewhere deeper than they should.

Before I can respond, he kisses me again.

Harder this time.

Any hesitation that flickered through him is gone now, replaced by something darker and far more dangerous. His hand tightens at my waist as he pulls me flush against him again, leaving no space between us, his lips returning to mine. The intensity of it steals the breath from my lungs completely.

Everything about him feels overwhelming.

Too intense, too all consuming.

And somewhere beneath the heat rushing through me comes a sharp, unavoidable realisation that this isn’t normal, he isn’t normal.

His hand leaves my waist and trails downward, slow and deliberate. Fingers skim over my hip, then slip beneath the hem of my dress. The touch is confident and possessive. When his palm glides up my bare thigh, my breath stutters.

He doesn’t rush any movement, he savors my reactions.

His fingertips trace the edge of my lace underwear, teasing and testing. A rough exhale leaves him when he feels how wet I already am for him. The sound makes my core clench.

“f**k,” I whisper against his lips.

He answers by kissing me harder, tongue stroking mine as his fingers push the thin lace aside. The first slow glide of his fingers over my slick folds draws a sharp moan from my throat. He swallows the sound, then presses one thick finger inside me.

My head falls back against the brick. He takes immediate advantage of an opening, dragging his mouth down my neck, sucking lightly just below my ear while his finger curls inside me, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy.

He adds a second finger, stretching me, f*****g me with slow, deep thrusts while his thumb finds my c**t and circles with just the right pressure. My hips roll into his hand shamelessly. I can’t stop myself. The pleasure builds in me fast and brutal, coiling tight in my belly.

He pulls back just enough to watch my face, dark eyes burning as he works me closer to the edge. His control is still there, precise and relentless, but I can feel the hunger underneath it, barely leashed.

I reach for his belt, desperate to feel him, but he catches my wrist and pins it against the wall above my head with a low sound of warning.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, voice rough.

His fingers move faster, deeper. The wet sound of them sliding in and out of me fills the quiet alleyway. My thighs start to tremble. I’m so close.

Just as I think I am about to c*m, he stops.

Pulls his hand away completely.

I make a frustrated sound, but he’s already pressing his forehead to mine, both of us breathing hard. His body is still flush against me, his erection heavy and obvious against my stomach through his trousers. His hand stays possessively on my hip, under my dress, fingers still slick with me.

“You’re trouble, Lucia.”

His voice is rougher than before, lower from the kiss and the tension still crackling between us.

Before I can answer, he steps back.

The sudden loss of his heat and touch is jarring. He adjusts his jacket, gives me one last long look, then turns and walks back toward the club door without another word.

I stay slumped against the wall, legs shaky, heart hammering, my body still throbbing with unspent need. My dress is slightly twisted, lips swollen, and I can still feel the ghost of his fingers inside me.

Then he turns and walks away without another word, disappearing back toward the club entrance like he already knows I won’t try to stop him.

For the first time that night, I realise I may have stepped into something far more dangerous than I intended.