Beat79 pulsed with energy, a living, breathing beast of neon lights and pounding music. The air was thick—a cocktail of sweat, alcohol, and anticipation. Bodies moved in chaotic harmony, pressing together, losing themselves in the rhythm. The night was reaching its peak, an untamed frenzy where inhibitions dissolved like ice in whiskey.
And at the center of it all, standing like he owned the place, was him.
Lucky Dante.
The kind of man who turned heads without trying. Women stared with interest; men with wariness, some with admiration. He was a legend here—not just because of his name but because of his reputation. The King of Playboys.
His smirk was pure sin, the kind that promised trouble and pleasure in equal measure. Brave brown eyes flickered with mischief, reflecting the golden stage lights. His shirt was only buttoned halfway, just enough to reveal the dusting of hair on his chest, the hard lines of a man who understood seduction not as a game, but as an art.
A woman crossed his path deliberately—hips swaying in a slow, deliberate rhythm meant for him. She was stunning, no doubt. The gods had blessed her generously, and she knew it.
Lucky's lips curved into something halfway between amusement and appreciation. Another time, darling. His voice was low, just enough for her to hear before he brushed past, not bothering to look back.
He had already chosen his target for the night.
She sat at the bar, an island of stillness in a sea of chaos. She had been there since she walked in, ordering her drinks without looking around, without trying to attract attention. And yet, she had it.
Lucky's attention.
The woman was beautiful—not in the obvious, exaggerated way of the nightclub scene, but in a way that demanded a second look. Her dress clung in all the right places, but it wasn't just about the way she looked. It was the air around her, the quiet confidence, the way she sipped her drink with no urgency, as if she was in no hurry to be seen.
Lucky liked that. A woman who didn't beg for attention but commanded it without effort.
A predator's grin tugged at his lips as he approached.
"A beautiful woman should never be alone," he thought. Unless it's in my bed.
Sliding into the seat beside her, he didn't speak right away. He let the silence stretch, just long enough for her to notice him without making it obvious that she had.
Then, when he was sure she felt his presence, he leaned in slightly, voice as smooth as the whiskey in his glass.
"You know," he murmured, "I thought for a second you were waiting for me. But then I realized…" he let the words hang, watching for the first flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "You don't wait for anyone, do you?"
She turned her head, finally acknowledging him. Dark eyes swept over his face, slow and assessing. She wasn't in a hurry to respond.
"Good," Lucky thought. She's going to make me work for it.
Her lips parted slightly, as if considering whether he was worth an answer. Then, she took a sip of her drink, placing it down with deliberate slowness before finally speaking.
"Smart boy." she said, her voice smooth like silk and laced with just enough challenge to make his pulse quicken. "But if you think flattery gets you anywhere with me, you're already failing."
Lucky grinned.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
"May I have this dance?" Lucky's voice was smooth, like velvet laced with something more dangerous.
She hesitated, her lips curving into something between amusement and skepticism. One dance. That was all he needed.
"Promise you'll leave me alone after?" she asked, tilting her head in mock defiance.
Lucky nodded, his smirk unwavering. A promise he had no intention of keeping.
He took her hand, leading her effortlessly to the center of the dance floor. Had she known him—truly known him—she would have realized why this particular spot had been left untouched. It was his throne.
The DJ caught sight of him and grinned knowingly. The bass shifted, the tempo changing—low, sensual, deliberate. A song meant for bodies to tangle in ways words could not describe.
She moved first, twisting to the rhythm, adapting faster than he expected. Lucky's brows lifted in mild surprise. Oh? She was good.
But he was better.
He closed the space between them, pulling her flush against him. His hands traced down her back, slow enough to make her shiver. She tensed, resisting for a moment, but Lucky was patient. He knew the rules of this game.
When she didn't pull away, he pressed further, lowering his lips to her ear. Not yet. He wouldn't kiss her—no, that would be too easy. Instead, he brushed against her neck, his breath warm against her skin before placing the softest, most deliberate kiss just beneath her jaw.
A sharp inhale. Her body betrayed her, trembling against his.
Encouraged, his hands continued their journey, skimming over her hips, fingers grazing the tops of her thighs, teasing the line between bold and sinful.
"What do you want?" he whispered, his voice dark, intoxicating. He met her gaze, reading every flicker of hesitation, every war between logic and desire.
It worked.
She exhaled sharply before wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a desperate, consuming kiss. Their lips crashed together, her body pressing against his, her curves molding into his frame.
Lucky growled low in his throat, gripping her ass firmly in response. Her breasts pressed deliciously against his chest, and he felt himself harden—fuck.
"Not here." His voice was husky, thick with promise.
She didn't protest when he took her hand and led her away from the dance floor. Around them, familiar faces smirked, raising their drinks in silent approval. Another conquest. Another spectacle.
But Lucky didn't care.
Tonight, she was his.