Parker

The club pulsed with red neon lights, the air thick with smoke, sweat, and desire. The bass was heavy, reverberating in Parker’s chest as he sat in the darkest corner of the room, his legs spread wide, a glass of whiskey resting in his hand. He was a predator watching his prey, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that could strip anyone bare.

You were on stage, commanding every gaze in the room, but Parker’s was different. His wasn’t just admiration or lust—it was hunger. His jaw tightened as his dark eyes followed every roll of your hips, every flick of your hair. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, the glow of the club catching on the silver rings adorning his fingers. The low hum of the crowd around him faded into nothing. For him, it was just you.

He licked his lips slowly, his tongue grazing over the silver lip ring he wore, as a wicked smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. The tattoos on his arms flexed as he gripped the edge of his glass, his mind spinning in ways that would terrify you if you knew. Parker wasn’t watching you with simple admiration—he was studying you. Mapping out every inch of your body, memorising every movement, every flicker of defiance in your eyes as you played to the crowd.

He sat back, spreading his arms along the back of the booth, exuding a dangerous kind of ease. His mind was already plotting, fantasising, not just about what he wanted to do to you but how he’d make it happen. Parker wasn’t the kind of man who asked. He took. And he was already deciding how he was going to take you.

You leaned into the pole, arching your back with a sultry grin, teasing the room. But when your gaze briefly met his, your expression faltered. His stare was too sharp, too intimate, like he was stripping you down with just his eyes. The way he smirked at you in that moment made your breath hitch. He noticed. He always noticed.

Parker tilted his head, slowly running his tongue over his teeth as his gaze lingered, unapologetically dark. His cigarette burned forgotten between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily around him as he stood, his towering frame cutting through the haze of the room like a blade.

As you disappeared backstage, he followed. His movements were deliberate, predatory, his boots thudding softly against the floor. He slipped past the drunken crowd with ease, his broad shoulders parting them like water.

Backstage was quieter, the thrum of the music muted. You didn’t see him at first as you gathered yourself, wiping the sweat from your brow. But you felt him—the air around you shifting, growing heavier. When you turned, Parker was there, leaning against the doorframe, his dark eyes gleaming under the low light.

“You’ve got their attention,” he drawled, his voice low and smooth, but laced with something dangerous. “But it’s mine you should be worried about.”

His smirk widened as he stepped closer, the shadows wrapping around him like an extension of his power. He stopped just short of you, towering over you, his presence swallowing the room whole. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper, dripping with wicked intent.

In that moment, you realised this wasn’t just a man—it was a storm you’d accidentally invited into your life. And Parker wasn’t planning to leave.