Chapter 4: Who was this man?

Amara's Pov

He led me out of the club like I was something precious. I barely registered the two sleek cars waiting outside—their shapes a blur through the haze of the drink still fogging my mind. One was massive, the other slightly smaller, and I could’ve sworn I saw dark silhouettes inside the second car… maybe guys who were with him?

Who was this man?

But my legs were light, my thoughts looser than ever, and I didn’t care enough to ask. He opened the door to the first car, and I followed without hesitation. We both slid into the back seat as someone—his driver, I assumed—started the engine.

Who was this guy?

But I was too drunk to even care.

The world outside the window swirled into colors I couldn’t name. My head was spinning, but the moment his hand slid around my waist and pulled me against him, everything sharpened.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said, his voice low, like velvet over gravel. “What’s your real name?”

His breath danced across my neck as his lips brushed against it. A tingle shot straight through me, and I forgot how to breathe, let alone answer.

“Amelia,” I murmured, a half-truth wrapped in fog.

I mean, Amara and Amelia sounded pretty similar in my drunk state.

He chuckled softly. “Lia,” he repeated, like he was trying the taste of it. “Beautiful.”

My heart did this weird, out-of-rhythm thump. He called me beautiful. Just like that. Like it was obvious. Like I was.

We were barely inches apart now. I didn’t know what spell I was under—or maybe I did, and I just didn’t want it to break—but my eyes dropped to his lips, and before I could think twice, I kissed him again.

Time stilled. The car. The streets. The world. Everything faded.

His hand slid from my thigh, tracing just under the hem of my dress—and then, his fingers brushed along the waistband of my panties.

And the car jerked to a stop.

“We’re here,” the driver said.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, pulling away with a reluctant groan.

The door opened, and he stepped out first, then turned back to help me out, like some kind of dark prince with shadows behind his eyes. The building before us was towering and sleek—people moving in and out in a blur of expensive clothes and quiet urgency.

A hotel. A very, very expensive one.

He didn’t speak as he took my hand and led me inside. The lobby was buzzing, but no one joined us in the elevator. That alone felt strange, but I was too drunk—and too wrapped in him—to question anything.

As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, he pressed me against the mirrored wall. His lips found mine again, more urgent now, like he’d been holding back and just couldn’t anymore. My hands slid up his chest—hot, solid, godlike—and he caught my wrists, pinning them above my head as he deepened the kiss.

I moaned into his mouth.

When the doors opened, he scooped me up like I weighed nothing and carried me through a hallway I barely registered. The door to the suite swung open, and he kicked it shut behind him.

“Aren’t you supposed to lock that?” I asked, biting my lip.

“Does it matter?” he murmured, his voice teasing, smug—and stupidly sexy.

He set me on the bed and pulled off his shirt in one smooth move. My mouth may or may not have dropped open. I couldn’t help it.

“Are you… drooling?” he smirked, running a finger across my bottom lip.

God. Was I?

“Don’t worry,” he said, hovering above me. “You’ll get your turn to touch.”

He kissed me again, harder this time, stealing whatever was left of my reason. His hands roamed freely now, slipping under the fabric of my dress with a confidence that made my skin hum.

My dress hit the floor faster than I could blink. I gasped, but the moment he kissed my collarbone—soft, reverent—I melted back into him.

When he finally looked at me, really looked, something in his expression shifted. Gone was the teasing grin. In its place was awe.

“You’re perfect,” he said softly as his gaze raked over my breasts, briefly latching on my nipples.

Not gonna lie, I always knew I had an impressive rack compared to most women but still I froze.

No one had ever said that to me like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He touched me like I was something rare—his hands slow, unhurried, learning every inch like a map he wanted to memorize. He kissed down my body, and my heart beat so hard I thought it might give out.

It wasn’t about just lust anymore. It was like… worship.

And I didn’t even know his name.

But I didn’t care.

The rest of the night blurred into heat, breath, and trembling skin. The way he looked at me, like he was starving. The way he held me, like I belonged there. Like I wasn’t a stranger. Like I was something worth craving.

He knew exactly what he was doing—how to touch, where to linger, when to slow down and make me beg without ever saying a word.

“Look at you,” he murmured at one point, watching me fall apart with a wicked smile. “Already unraveling.”

I didn’t have words. Just sensations. Just the burning in my chest and the ache in my core that only he seemed to understand.

And then, just when I thought he was done—when I thought he’d taken everything from me—he whispered against my skin, “This is just the beginning, baby doll.”

Just the beginning?

I didn’t know whether to run or stay forever.

Because whoever this man was… he wasn’t done with me.

And God help me, I didn’t want him to be.