The night was heavy with a tension that hummed in the air, almost tangible. Lola could feel it coiling around her like a slow, deliberate storm, stirring a heat she hadn't dared to acknowledge before. Every glance, every brush of skin, every whispered word seemed to pull her deeper into a world she had no intention of escaping. And Dante—his presence was impossible to ignore. There was something raw, consuming about him, a magnetism that made her pulse quicken and her thoughts scatter.
Her body remembered things she didn't even want to admit, instincts flaring at his nearness. The curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the soft lace of her lingerie—all of it seemed designed for his eyes, his hands, his touch. She could hear her own breath hitching, feel her heartbeat thudding as if it were a signal that she had been waiting for this, all along.
Lola knew there was no going back. The night promised desire, temptation, and a dangerous surrender—and she was already falling.
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