The city was a living, breathing beast, its neon veins pulsing through the night as Eva stood in the private suite of the Nocturne, an underground club known only to those with power and secrets. The room was a cocoon of decadence—black velvet walls, a mirrored ceiling, and a massive bed draped in crimson silk that dominated the space like an altar to sin. The air was thick with the scent of oud and musk, and the faint throb of bass from the club below vibrated through the floor, syncing with Eva's racing pulse.
She wore a corset of black leather, its laces pulled tight to accentuate her curves, paired with a thong that left little to the imagination. Her thighs were encased in sheer stockings, garters biting into her skin, and her stilettos were sharp enough to draw blood. Her lips were a deep scarlet, her eyes lined with kohl, her raven hair cascading in waves that begged to be gripped. This was no longer about seduction—it was about domination, about pushing Victor to the edge and watching him break. Or maybe it was about her own breaking, a surrender to the desires she'd fought to suppress.
Victor's message had come at midnight, a single line that burned through her: *"Nocturne. Suite 13. Now."* No pretense, no negotiation, just a command that ignited her blood. She'd spent the day in a haze, her body still aching from their encounter in the Elysian Tower, her mind a battlefield of rage and longing. Liam's message—his pathetic attempt to control her—had only fueled her resolve. She'd destroy him, destroy Sophia, and if Victor was the weapon, she'd wield him until they both burned.
The door clicked open, and Victor stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a storm. He wore a black suit, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a shirt that clung to his muscled chest, his dark hair tousled as if he'd run his hands through it. His eyes, those predatory eyes, locked onto her, raking over her body with a hunger that made her skin prickle. He didn't speak, just closed the door with a deliberate thud, the sound a promise of what was to come.
"You're late," Eva said, her voice a sultry challenge, her hips cocked as she leaned against the bedpost. "I don't like waiting."
Victor's lips twitched, a dangerous smile that sent a shiver through her. "You'll wait for me," he said, his voice a low growl that curled around her like smoke. "And you'll like it."
He crossed the room In three strides, stopping inches from her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body. His scent—whiskey, cedar, and raw masculinity—wrapped around her, dizzying. She tilted her chin, meeting his gaze, refusing to back down. "Prove it," she said, her voice dripping with defiance. "Show me why I should."
His hand shot out, gripping her jaw with just enough force to make her gasp, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "Careful, Eva," he said, his voice rough with want. "You're playing with fire, and I'm not in the mood to be gentle."
"Then don't be," she shot back, her eyes blazing. "I want you raw. I want you real. Give me everything, Victor, or get out."
The words snapped something in him, a leash breaking. He kissed her, his lips crashing against hers with a ferocity that stole her breath. It was no tender exploration—this was a claiming, a battle of tongues and teeth that left her dizzy. His hands roamed her body, one sliding into her hair, gripping tight, the other finding her waist, pulling her against him so she could feel the hard length of him through his trousers. Eva moaned into his mouth, her nails raking his shoulders, marking him as hers.
"You're a f*cking wildfire," he growled, breaking the kiss to nip at her throat, his teeth grazing her pulse point. "And I'm going to burn with you."
His hands moved to the laces of her corset, tugging them loose with a roughness that made her heart race. The leather fell away, exposing her breasts, and he groaned, his eyes darkening as he took her in. "Perfect," he said, his voice reverent, and then his mouth was on her, his tongue swirling over her nipple, his teeth grazing just hard enough to make her cry out. Eva's head fell back, her hands tangling in his hair, urging him closer as pleasure shot through her, sharp and electric.
"Victor," she gasped, her voice a plea, a command. "More."
He didn't hesitate. His hands slid lower, hooking into her thong and ripping it away with a single, brutal tug. The fabric tore, the sound raw and primal, and Eva's breath hitched as he dropped to his knees, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading her open. "You're mine tonight," he said, his voice a growl against her skin. "Every inch of you."
His mouth found her, his tongue delving into her with a hunger that bordered on worship. Eva's moan was loud, unrestrained, her hips bucking against him as he devoured her, his lips and tongue working her with a skill that left her trembling. He was relentless, his hands holding her in place, his fingers digging into her thighs as he drove her higher, closer to the edge. The mirrored ceiling reflected their tableau—her body arched, his head between her legs, a vision of decadence that made her pulse race.
"F*ck, Victor," she gasped, her hands fisting in his hair, her body shaking as pleasure coiled tight in her core. "Don't stop."
He didn't. His tongue circled her clit, slow and deliberate, then fast and merciless, pushing her toward oblivion. When she came, it was a shattering, her cry echoing in the room as waves of ecstasy tore through her. Victor didn't pull away, his mouth working her through the aftershocks, drawing out every shudder, every gasp, until she was boneless, her legs trembling.
He rose, his lips glistening, his eyes blazing with a hunger that hadn't dimmed. "You taste like sin," he said, his voice rough, and he kissed her, letting her taste herself on his tongue. The act was intimate, filthy, and it ignited something primal in her. She reached for his belt, her fingers fumbling in her haste, desperate to feel him, to have him.
"Impatient," he teased, but his voice was strained, his control fraying. He helped her, shedding his trousers, his boxers, revealing the hard, thick length of him. Eva's breath caught, her body aching with need. She wrapped her hand around him, stroking slowly, relishing the way his jaw clenched, his eyes fluttering shut.
"Eva," he groaned, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her onto the bed. "You're going to kill me."
"Good," she said, her voice a sultry purr as she pulled him down, her legs wrapping around his waist. "I want you to die for me."
He entered her in one swift thrust, filling her completely, and they both groaned, the sound raw and primal. He was big, stretching her in a way that was both pleasure and pain, and Eva arched beneath him, her nails digging into his back. He didn't give her time to adjust, his hips moving with a rhythm that was relentless, possessive, each thrust driving deeper, claiming her in a way that felt like a vow.
"F*ck, you feel good," he growled, his lips against her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "So tight, so perfect."
Eva matched his pace, her hips rising to meet him, her body a live wire of sensation. "Harder," she demanded, her voice fierce. "Make me feel it. Make me forget."
He did. His thrusts grew faster, deeper, the bed creaking beneath them as they moved together, a symphony of flesh and need. His hands roamed her body, one pinning her wrists above her head, the other gripping her thigh, angling her for deeper penetration. Eva's moans grew louder, her body arching, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. The mirrored ceiling reflected their frenzy—his muscles flexing, her body writhing, a vision of raw, unfiltered desire.
"You're mine," he said, his voice a possessive growl, his eyes locked on hers. "Say it, Eva. Tell me you're mine."