Sweet Sinful Night

Seraphina's POV

I said, "You shouldn't be here," my voice quivering as much as the wine glass in my hand.

The individual living in the dismal corner of the private chamber did not answer right away. His sharp blue gaze caught on me, fastening me. Though the room was dark, I could still see his arrogant lip tilt and sharp angles on his face.

At last, his voice low, dark, and stunningly menacing, he said, "I couldn't stay away."

My pulse accelerated. Trying to look cool, I placed my drink on the fine bar counter. "This is a mistake," I whispered, but I didn't even think it was genuine. Too fast my heart was thumping for me to think properly. " Whatever you think is going to happen tonight-it won't."

He drew closer, his presence absorbing the space between us. "Is that so?"

I nodded, but my resolve slipped as he leaned out and traced his fingertips softly over my wrist. His touch scorched, a burning that kindled something primitive inside me. I loathed how easy he could unravel me with just a look, just a touch.

"Tell me to leave, Seraphina," he said, his voice like silk and steel. "Tell me, and I will. But if you don't..." His fingers lingered, his thumb making little, torturous circles on my flesh.

I swallowed hard, torn between running and yielding. This man, this stranger, had come into my life like a cyclone out of nowhere. One chance encounter at a bar had affected everything, and now he was here, crashing into my carefully guarded existence.

"You don't even know me," I whispered, more to persuade myself than him.

"Maybe not," he agreed, his lips twisting into a mischievous sneer. "But I know enough. Enough to know that you're not as put-together as you claim to be. Enough to comprehend you're bored of being the ideal Seraphina Blake everyone expects. And enough to know that you want this as much as I do."

I took my hand away, seeking to reclaim some sense of control. "You don't know what I want," I cried, my voice harsher than I wished.

He didn't flinch. If anything, his smile deepened. "Then tell me I'm wrong," he challenged. "Say the words, and I'll leave you alone."

I opened my lips to answer, but no words came out. Because the thing was, I didn't want him to leave. I wanted him here, even if it worried me. Even if it was foolish and risky and utterly out of character.

The first time I saw him, I assumed he was simply another affluent man with a stunning face and an overinflated ego. He had been sitting at the VIP area of the club, watching me with a sneer that made my skin shake and my heart swell. I'd gone there to blow off steam, to forget about the ongoing stress of running a failed business. I hadn't been seeking anything-or anyone.

But then our eyes met, and everything changed.

"You're silent, Seraphina," he noted, his voice drawing me back to the present. "Should I take that as a yes?"

"No," I answered swiftly, but the word lacked conviction. I took a step back, seeking to put some distance between us. "I don't do this. I don't... I'm not this person."

"What person?" he answered, coming closer. "The person who takes what she wants? The person who quits attempting to be flawless for everyone else and just... lives?"

I felt the wall on my back and recognized too late that I'd locked myself. He was so close now, his scent-something rich and intoxicating-filling the air between us. My breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips just inches from mine.

"This is a bad idea," I whispered, yet my body misled me, leaning toward him despite my words.

"Sometimes the worst ideas are the ones worth pursuing," he continued, his voice a deep, seductive growl. "Tell me to stop, Seraphina."

I should have told him to stop. I should have gone away. But instead, I closed the space between us, my lips slamming into his in a kiss that was all fire and intensity.

The kiss was unlike what I expected. It wasn't delicate or tentative. It was primeval and engulfing, a battle of want and defiance. His hands seized my waist, forcing me closer as if he couldn't take the gap between us. My fingers knotted in his hair, and for a time, I allowed myself to become lost in the tornado of him.

But then reality came back in, hard and cruel. I pulled him away, my chest heaving as I tried to regain my breath.

"This can't happen," I responded, my voice cracking.

"Why not?" he questioned, his eyes intense and unyielding.

"Because I don't know you," I muttered, though it sounded weak even to my ears.

"Then get to know me," he observed casually, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

"It's not that simple," I said, frustration rising to the surface. "You don't understand-"

"Then make me understand," he continued, his tone suddenly serious. "Tell me what's holding you back, Seraphina. Is it fear? Doubt? Or is it just simpler to keep everyone at arm's length?"

His remarks hit too near to heart, penetrating through my walls with precision. I disliked how easy he looked through me, how he seemed to know aspects of me I didn't even completely understand myself.

"I can't do this," I said again, shaking my head. "I just... can't."

I turned to exit, my heart hammering in my chest. But before I could take more than a stride, his voice halted me.

"If you walk away now, you'll regret it," he said, his words laden with significance. "Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow. But one day, you'll look back and wonder what could have been. And by then, it'll be too late."

I froze, his words settling in. He was correct, and that concerned me more than anything. But I couldn't let myself sink into this maelstrom, not without realizing the cost.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, and then I walked away, my heart bleeding with every step.

The next morning, I woke up feeling restless and uneasy. I tried to immerse myself in work, but my thoughts kept returning back to him. His words, his touch, his kiss-they plagued me, screaming to be ignored.

And then, just as I was trying to tell myself it was all in my mind, my phone buzzed with a notification. I snatched it up, my heart halting as I noticed the message.

Unknown Number: We're not finished, Seraphina. Not yet. – Damon

My breath seized, and for a time, I couldn't move. How had he acquired my number? And what did he mean by "not finished"?

Before I could digest any of it, another message came in, this time with an address and a time.

Unknown Number: Tonight. 8 PM. Don't be late.

I glanced at the television, my heart beating. This was irresponsible. It was wild. But against my better judgment, I knew I would go.

Seraphina waits in her car outside the place Damon gave her, her hands grasping the steering wheel while she contemplates whether to go in. Her phone buzzes again, and she checks at the screen.

Unknown Number: Are you coming, Seraphina? Or are you too terrified to take a chance?

Her jaw tightens, and with a deep breath, she climbs out of the car, prepared to confront whatever awaits her inside.

The door opens to discover Damon standing in a poorly lighted flat, his countenance inscrutable. "You came," he adds, his voice a combination of enthusiasm and something more.

Seraphina takes a step forward, her heart beating. "What do you want from me, Damon?"

He smirks, but there's a spark of vulnerability in his eyes as he adds, "Everything."