The Devil On The Ice

Amelia Pov

”Go, Amelia! Get it, girl!”

I heard Chloe’s voice over the roar of the music. She was somewhere below me, waving a drink in the air. I realized then that I was actually on the stage. My hands were gripped around the metal pole, and I was swaying my hips in a way that would have made me die of embarrassment if I were sober.

But tonight, I wasn't the shy photography student who hid in the back of the gallery. I was someone else in this club.

I laughed, the sound lost in the music, and spun around the pole. My head spun even faster. For a second, the crowd blurred into a sea of faces, but my eyes locked onto one spot in the VIP balcony.

There was a man sitting there, blended into the shadows. I couldn't see his face, but I could feel his eyes boring holes into me. It was so heavy, it felt like he was already touching me without moving a finger.

His stare made me nervous for a second. Why was he looking at me like I was the only person in the room? Like I was his?

“I need… I need the bathroom,” I mumbled to no one in particular.

I slid down the pole, nearly tripping over my own feet. Chloe caught my arm, her face flushed and happy.

“You’re on fire tonight!” she yelled into my ear.

“Restroom,” I said, pointing vaguely toward the back. “Be right back.”

“Don’t get lost!” she joked, turning back to the dance floor.

I stumbled away from the noise. The deeper I went into the club, the more the lights dimmed. I saw a sign for the restrooms and followed the arrow, but my brain was working in slow motion. I turned a corner, then another, pushing through a set of heavy curtains.

Suddenly, the music muffled. The air got cooler.I wasn't in a hallway with bathrooms. I was in a long corridor lined with private gold-colored doors.

Everything screamed luxury.

“Oops,” I giggled, leaning against the wall for support. My reflection in a gold-framed mirror looked back at me—hair messy, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. Amelia, you are officially a mess. Where are the toilets?

I turned around to go back the way I came, but I ran straight into something hard. For a second, I actually thought it was a wall, but I looked up and it was a person. I had hit his chest—solid, broad, and smelling of expensive cologne.

“Oh! Sorry,” I stammered, looking down at a pair of very expensive black shoes. “I’m so sorry, I lost my way. Just trying to find the… you know.”

I tried to step to the right to pass him. He stepped to the right, blocking me. I tried the left. He moved left.

I huffed a little, a drunken spark of annoyance hitting me. I looked up to tell him to move, and the words died in my throat.

It was him. The man from the balcony.

Up close, he was terrifyingly handsome. He had sharp, beautiful features and eyes that looked like they could see right through my skin. He didn't look like a guy out for a fun night. He looked like he owned the building and every single thing in this city. He looked incredibly rich.

“You’re the one,” I whispered, the realization hitting my foggy brain. “From the balcony. You were watching me.”

He didn't say anything at first. He just stared at me, his presence filling the narrow hallway until I felt like I was getting choked up. Then, he reached out. His hand moved slowly, almost gently, until his fingers wrapped around the back of my neck.

He pulled me forward, forcing me to step into his space. His skin was warm, and his grip was firm.

“Finalmente ti ho trovato,” he rasped.

His voice was like deep velvet. I didn't understand the words, but the way he said them made my stomach flip.

“I… I don’t know what that means,” I breathed. My heart was beating hard; his presence was suffocating me in the best way possible.

He tilted his head, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just behind my ear. He leaned down, bringing his face inches from mine. I could smell high-end bourbon and a hint of mint. The eye contact was so intense that I forgot how to breathe.

Am I really doing this? a small voice in my head whispered. Am I really about to let a man I don't even know take my first time?

“It means,” he whispered, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke, “that I finally have you.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “You don’t even know me. We’re strangers.”

A dark smirk played on his lips. It wasn't a nice smile; it was predatory, holding intentions that I feared I would accept wholeheartedly.

“I want you, Amelia.” he said, his voice dropping lower. He moved his other hand to my waist, pulling my hips flush against his. I could feel the hard, masculine line of his body through my clothes.

My breath hitched. “How do you know my name?”

“I know everything I need to know.”

He didn't give me a chance to argue. He leaned in and captured my lips with his.

I gasped into his mouth. He dominated the kiss immediately, his tongue teasing mine, pulling at my lower lip with a hunger that made my knees weak.

I should have pushed him away or run back to Chloe, but the alcohol and the desires I’d suppressed for years—the curiosity about a part of life I’d never explored—just flooded out. I groaned into his mouth, my hands flying up to grip his broad shoulders.

I was so incredibly turned on it was embarrassing. I’m really going to give it to him, I thought, a dazed heat spreading through my chest. I wanted the stranger to be the one to break the seal I’d guarded so carefully.

He pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark with a heat that promised to ruin me. He looked at me, making sure I was still with him, still wanting it. I nodded frantically, unable to find my voice.

He grabbed my hand and led me to the nearest door. He swiped a gold keycard, and the door clicked open. It was a private suite, dimly lit with a massive bed in the center.

He pushed me toward the bed, his gaze never leaving mine. I fell back onto the soft mattress, bouncing slightly. I looked up at him as he began to unbutton his dress shirt. His movements were slow, deliberate, and completely mesmerizing.

I felt like I was in a dream. A very beautiful, very dangerous dream.

He climbed onto the bed, hovering over me, his heavy weight a promise of the intensity to come. He reached down, his fingers catching the hem of my shirt.

“Spread your legs, love,” he commanded.

And I did.