I stand next to him, and I am glad that  I can still remember to breathe.

We stare at each other. I have to tilt my head to get a proper look at him.

“What do you want?” he asks softly. His voice somehow carries above the music, its deeper notes audible even in this

noisy environment.

“You,” I say quietly, looking up at him. I am absolutely mesmerized, and I’m pretty sure he knows it. He's not surprised. Maybe he gets this a lot. He smiles. His sensuous lips part, revealing even white teeth. 

“How old are you?” he asks next.

I blink. “Twenty.”

His expression darkens. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Eighteen,” I admit reluctantly. He nods, like I confirmed his suspicions.

I pull him closer by his pants. He smirks.  And then he raises his hand and touches my face. Lightly, gently. His thumb rubs

against my lower lip, as though he’s curious about its texture. I’m so shocked. Yet, I just stand there and lean in. Nobody has ever done that before, touched me so casually, so possessively. It felt like what a Mafia Lord would do to the lady of his dreams. Or how an Alpha would touch his Luna. I feel hot and cold at the same time, and a tendril of fear snakes down my spine. There is no hesitation in his actions. I am thrilled. No asking for permission, no pausing to see if I would let him touch me. He just touches me. Like he has the right to do so. Like I belong to him. I like the way he does it, the way he makes me feel. 

I almost closed my eyes when he looked away. A frown on his face. When he looks back at me, his face is serious.  

“I have to go,” he whispers. He is watching me with an inscrutable expression on his beautiful face.

I know I have to let him go. But I don't want to.