Naya looked at him, and time seemed to exhale slower than it should.
She stepped back, searching for steadiness beneath the rush building in her chest. Her cheeks flushed. She glanced down, then sideways, needing somewhere to place the heat rising beneath her skin.
Cole's eyes stayed locked on her—dark and dangerous, like he saw more than the black dress hugging her curves, more than the tequila-fueled confidence she wore like armor.
He smiled deliberately, a low, controlled laugh escaping him, claiming the space between them.
"I'm Cole," he said, his voice smoother now. "And you are?"
"I'm Naya," she answered, voice shaky.
She heard her name echo in her own ears and wished she'd said it with more composure. Stronger. But the way he looked at her—it did something reckless to her spine.
"Nice name. Suits you," he said, his gaze flickering briefly toward the wine tasting table where Dante and Jenny stood, then back to her.
She folded her arms, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt in that tiny dress under the weight of his stare.
He tilted his head, eyes sweeping her slowly, shamelessly—like he was memorizing every inch.
A smirk touched his lips.
"You always snap pics of men you're into… or am I just the lucky one tonight?"
Naya let out a soft breath. A smile teased her lips as she looked away, chest tightening with the flutter she couldn't hide.
He watched her for a beat, amused.
Then he stepped closer.
Her perfume mingled with his cologne, and the space between them thickened. His hand lifted, hovering near her jaw but didn't touch. His mouth curved, slow. Dangerous.
"Tell me something, Naya," he said, voice low. "What would've happened if we never caught you taking that picture?"
Her mouth went dry. "Probably nothing."
He smirked, eyes dropping to her lips with a spark of mischief.
"That'd be a shame."
She didn't move—not out of fear, but something else. Like her body didn't trust itself to step forward or away.
Cole's smirk deepened as he caught her hesitation, his gaze locking onto hers with glinting mischief.
"You know," he said slowly, voice dropping even lower—smooth and dangerous, "since you took my picture without my consent… I think you owe me."
Naya blinked, pulse quickening. "Owe you?" she echoed, unsure if she should laugh or run.
He nodded, eyes never leaving hers, tone daring. "Yeah. A little something for the trouble."
The space between them charged, every word hanging like a dare. His gaze dropped to her lips again, but this time, the intensity shifted—he wasn't just teasing.
Naya exhaled shakily, barely a whisper. "God."
Cole tilted his head, amused. "Trust me?"
His eyes darkened, the playful smirk fading into something more intense. His hand lifted again, fingers curling in the air as he took a step closer.
"Come here," he said, low but commanding.
Naya's breath hitched—a mix of apprehension and curiosity twisting in her stomach. For a split second, she considered pulling back. But his presence was magnetic—too strong to resist.
Without thinking, she reached out, placing her hand in his.
He didn't waste a moment, fingers closing around hers with an almost possessive grip. "Good girl," he murmured, barely audible over the music, but the words sent shivers down her spine.
Cole didn't wait for more hesitation. He turned, leading her through the crowd with steady pull, his body moving with purpose—clearing a path to the dance floor.
Lights flashed above, sparks of color dancing through haze and swaying bodies. Naya felt the heat of his hand on hers, grip firm, unyielding.
They reached the center of the floor. He turned to face her, pulling her close—so close the heat of his body radiated into hers, the music vibrating through their bones.
"You wanted something to feel?" Cole whispered, lips brushing her ear, breath hot and teasing. "Let's see if we can make it last."
He moved then, hand sliding to her waist, pulling her into the rhythm.
At first, Naya moved stiffly, unsure where to place her hands, unsure what to do with the tension charging through her bloodstream. Her fingers found his shoulders—solid, warm—and stayed there.
He didn't force anything. He just moved.
Smooth, deliberate, like the music lived in his spine. His chest brushed hers, hips barely grazing—but the contact was enough to light something inside her.
She caught his eye. And he smiled, low and knowing.
Their bodies found a rhythm—slow at first, uncertain. Then matching. Then melting. Her thoughts scattered like confetti—bright, dizzy, directionless. She wasn't used to feeling this seen, this wanted, and definitely not this close to losing control.
Every time his hips brushed hers, a warning flared in her mind. Too close. Too much. But her body refused to obey. It was drinking in his heat, his smell, the way his muscles moved under his shirt.
She knew this kind of fire—had gotten burned before—but something about him made her want to test the limits again.
His hand slid to the small of her back, fingers spreading like a claim. His other hand traced the edge of her bare arm, not quite touching, just enough to raise goosebumps.
Naya's heart raced, beats syncing with the rapid pulse in her chest. She tried to focus on the music, on freedom—but his body against hers, the heat of his touch, made everything else fade.
Cole's eyes never left hers, gaze intense, daring her to keep up.
"Let's go, Naya," he whispered again, voice velvet laced with danger.
Something about the way he said her name unlocked a door inside her she didn't know was still closed.
No one had ever said it like that before. Like it was a promise. Like it mattered.