She looked up into his eyes, dark and unreadable. Somewhere behind her, Jenny was laughing with the dimpled friend, but all Naya could feel was him.
What was she feeling?
Panic. Heat. Curiosity. Hunger.
She took half a step back, instinct wrestling desire.
The man let out a soft, cocky laugh. The kind that curled around her spine and tugged something reckless awake.
"I'm Cole, by the way," he said, voice dripping with smug heat. "You?"
Naya blinked, her lips parting before she realized she was answering.
"Naya."
Cole smiled. "Naya," he repeated slowly, like he was tasting it. "Pretty name. Suits you."
She folded her arms, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt in that tiny dress under the weight of his gaze.
He tilted his head, eyes roaming her slowly, shamelessly, like he was memorizing every detail.
"You always snap pics of men you're into... or am I just the lucky one tonight?"
Naya let out a soft breath, the edge of a smile teasing her lips as she looked away, heart fluttering like it wanted to escape her chest.
Then—he stepped closer. Close enough that her perfume tangled with his cologne, the air thick between them. His hand lifted but didn't touch—hovering just a breath from her jaw, a whisper from her skin.
"Tell me something, Naya," he said low, voice smooth and dangerous. "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 stayed still.
So did he. The world seemed to pause, the charged silence humming louder than the mus
ic around them.
Cole's smirk deepened as he saw her hesitation, his gaze locking onto hers with a glint of mischief.
"You know," he said slowly, his voice lowering, smooth and dangerous, "because you took my picture without my concern… I think you should pay me back."
Naya blinked, her pulse quickening. "Pay you back?" she echoed, not sure if she was supposed to laugh or walk away.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, his tone a challenge. "Yeah. A little something for the trouble."
The space between them was charged now, every word hanging in the air like a dare. His gaze dropped to her lips again, but this time, the intensity was different—he wasn't just teasing.
"I don't owe you anything," Naya replied, trying to regain control, though her voice trembled slightly.
Cole tilted his head, amused. "Not yet, maybe. But you will. Trust me."
Cole's eyes darkened, the playful smirk fading into something more intense. His hand lifted, fingers curling in the air as he took a step closer.
"Come here," he said, his voice low, but the command clear.
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, his fingers closing around hers with an almost possessive grip. "Good girl," he murmured, barely audible over the music, but the words made her skin prickle.
Cole didn't wait for any more hesitation. He turned, leading her through the crowd with a steady pull, his body moving with purpose, making a path for them to the dance floor.
The lights above flashed, sending sparks of color through the haze of smoke and bodies swaying in rhythm. Naya felt the heat of Cole's hand on hers, the way his grip didn't loosen, didn't falter.
They reached the center of the floor, and he turned to face her, positioning her close—so close that the heat from his body radiated into hers, the music vibrating through their bones.
"You wanted something to feel?" Cole whispered, leaning in just enough that his lips brushed against her ear, his breath hot and teasing. "Let's see if we can make it last."
He moved then, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her into the rhythm of the music. Naya's heart raced, the beats of the song syncing with the rapid pulse in her chest. She tried to focus on the music, on the freedom, but his body against hers, the heat of his touch, made everything else fade.
His other hand rested against her back, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress, pulling her closer with each movement.
Naya's breath faltered as she found herself drawn into his orbit, caught between wanting to escape and needing to stay.
Cole's eyes never left hers, his gaze intense, daring her to keep up.
"Let's go, Naya," he whispered again, his voice like velvet laced with something dangerous.
The music shifted—low and heavy, a bassline made to be felt in the spine.
Cole pulled her closer, his hand warm and firm at the curve of her waist. Their bodies aligned too easily, too perfectly, like the night had been waiting for this exact moment.
His other hand found hers again, lacing their fingers as he guided her into the rhythm. Slow. Intentional. Every motion deliberate, like the dance itself was a conversation only they could hear.
Naya tried to breathe evenly, tried to focus on the beat, but his body was heat and gravity and her mind was short-circuiting.
Then his eyes locked on hers.
The crowd vanished. The lights blurred. Nothing existed outside the storm in his gaze.
He didn't smile. Didn't tease. Just stared—so deeply, so unflinchingly, she felt stripped bare. Every innocent thought she'd clung to slipped through her fingers like water.