The thumping music vibrated through the club's ceiling. Neon lights flashed wildly, sweeping the room with streaks of red and purple. The smell of alcohol mixed with expensive perfume, creating an atmosphere that only exclusive venues in the heart of the city could possess.
At the black marble-clad VVIP table, a bottle of Dom Pérignon Rosé Vintage 2008 was open, next to the amber gleam of Louis XIII de Rémy Martin in a Baccarat crystal bottle. The crystal glasses were still wet with residual drinks, but everyone's attention had already been stolen by one scene on the dark leather sofa.
The man, with an old money appearance, sat relaxed with his legs crossed. Brioni slim cut trousers, a black Tom Ford shirt, a Patek Philippe Grand Complications watch gleaming faintly under the neon light. His eyes were cold, but every movement carried authority—as if he were accustomed to buying the entire world with a single blink.
Beside him, a young man in a half-open white Saint Laurent shirt, his breath heavy, his face flushed from alcohol. He looked unsteady, his fingers reaching for the glass, but his wrist was roughly restrained.
"...You've had enough to drink." The man's voice was deep, almost drowned out by the music, but firm.
The young man smiled faintly, challenging, turning with eyes that were half-blurred. "If I want more... what can you do to stop me?"
Instantly, the world seemed to stop. The man in black leaned in, his hand grasping the collar of the white shirt and pulling him close. Their lips collided—not just a kiss, but a full-blown claim of lust. Sweet alcohol mixed with their breath, making the kiss wet, deep, and dominating.
The younger man gasped, his back hitting the sofa, but his body didn't fight back. Instead, those trembling fingers grabbed the collar of the man above him, as if surrendering to the fire. A short moan escaped between the kisses, almost swallowed by the music's beat.
Around them, the neon light continued to spin, but the VVIP table became the center of the world. It was there, brutally yet elegantly, a classy man shattered boundaries, while the young man in his arms drowned in a kiss that could no longer be stopped.
The kiss deepened. Brutal at the start, it now shifted into a rhythm of full control—hard, pressing, but measured. The man in black's tongue pushed inward, demanding space, forcing the young man to accept, panting, until his trembling fingers squeezed the chest of the expensive black shirt.
The crystal glass on the table rattled, spilling its contents slightly, but no one dared to approach. The VVIP area seemed fenced off by an untouchable aura.
The man held the younger man's jaw with one hand, his thumb pressing on the chin to keep the kiss unbroken. His other hand slid to the slender waist beneath the white shirt, squeezing roughly but with full dominance. A short, choked moan escaped, fueling the fire in their chests.
The alcohol clinging to their lips mingled, creating a sensation that was both sweet and burning. The young man groaned softly, his body pushed deeper into the sofa. He tried to turn away, searching for air, but his neck was held, guided to a point where he couldn't evade.
A thin smile appeared at the corner of the man's mouth—cold, dangerous. "You're even sweeter than the Louis XIII." His voice was hoarse, echoing in the ear, causing the young man to fall silent, his body trembling without resistance.
Those long fingers slipped under the white shirt, touching the hot skin that contrasted with the coldness of the Cartier gold ring wrapped around his finger.
Their kiss broke for only a fraction of a second, just enough to give space for stolen breaths—then collided again, wilder, deeper. The man in black held the younger man's jaw, his fingers gripping firmly, ensuring those lips couldn't escape. Alcohol still clung to their tongues, creating a sweet and bitter taste that made their bodies feel as if they were burning.
His other hand crept to the slender waist, slipping inside the thin Saint Laurent white shirt. Warm skin instantly welcomed him, making the young man flinch slightly, his back arching.
A moan escaped, caught between his teeth, making the man smile thinly. The smile of a predator who had just found a helpless toy. "Look at you..." he whispered hoarsely in his ear, before his tongue explored the jawline, moving down to the neck.
The young man writhed, his body increasingly pinned to the sofa. His fingers tried to push away, but instead squeezed the man's chest, as if his body was betraying his intentions.
Suddenly, his soft black hair was pulled back, forcing his face upward. The neon light highlighted his pale skin, his lips wet, his eyes half-blurred by alcohol and passion. The pull on his hair was not merely rough, but elegant—full control that asserted who was the master of the night.
"You're even more beautiful when you fight back," the man murmured, his voice almost swallowed by the music, yet enough to make blood surge.
The cold Cartier gold ring touched the hot skin on the younger man's chest, a sharp contrast that made his body tremble. He couldn't run, couldn't refuse—the entire world shrank into that dominant embrace, the thumping music merely the background for their increasingly frantic breaths.
In the middle of the crowd, the VVIP table became a private stage: a place where class, power, and desire collided, setting fire to the stage of their first night.
The man ended the kiss roughly, the young man's lips still red and wet, his breath coming in gasps as if he had just emerged from the seabed.
Without a word, he stood up. His long fingers gripped the younger man's wrist, pulling him to his feet just like that. The crystal glass on the table shook, the golden liquid of the Louis XIII almost spilled, but no one in the room dared to speak. Everyone just stared—half-shocked, half-envious.
The young man stumbled momentarily, his face red, his steps disorganized. "Hey... you—" his protest was hoarse, but swallowed by the strong pull.
The classy man didn't care. With steady steps, he dragged him through the hallway towards the club's private area, past the elegantly carved black wooden door. Every step they took seemed to be accompanied by the continuous drumming of music from the main room.
They finally arrived at the exclusive VIP restroom—a white marble room with gold accents, an onyx-clad washbasin, glittering crystal chandeliers. The scent of expensive perfume mixed with the cold air conditioning. Everything there radiated luxury, but also profound solitude.
The man pushed the young man against the marble wall, hard but still controlled. The slender body was pinned, his hands braced, their eyes meeting for only a moment before dissolving back into a brutal kiss, hotter than before.
Their breaths were ragged. The young man's hair was pulled back, exposing his neck. The man's hot tongue moved down, exploring the pale skin that was now covered in wild bites—a contrast with the cold marble against his back.
"I've been holding back for too long..." he whispered low, almost a growl. Strong fingers slipped under the white shirt, which was now wide open, touching the warm skin, conquering every inch without compromise.
The young man gasped, his body trembling, but his eyes flashed with a faint resistance that only made the man's smile more vicious. "Here...? You're crazy..." his voice was hoarse, yet his body didn't move from the embrace's trap.
The crystal chandelier light reflected off his luxurious watch, the gold ring, and the eyes that were now filled with embers. The marble restroom, in an instant, turned into an arena where power and desire collided unstoppably.
The cold marble wall stabbed the young man's back, a contrast to the heat of the man's body pressing against him. Their breaths rushed, colliding in the private space. The crystal lamp glowed faintly, reflecting the shadows of their bodies clinging to each other.
Their kiss deepened—wild, demanding, full of claim. The man's fingers squeezed the slender waist, then slid lower, holding the young man's body so he couldn't escape. The pull on his hair forced the young man's head up, his lips parting with a short moan that was immediately swallowed back.
The thin white shirt finally came undone, its buttons releasing one by one with rough yet elegant movements. His pale skin was exposed, greeted by bites and red marks all along his neck to his chest. Each mark was a stamp of ownership, deliberately inflicted.
"Trembling... just like this," the man's voice was low, almost a growl, yet clear, full of power. His fingers, cold from the Cartier gold ring, slid across the hot skin, making the young man arch without being able to restrain himself.
His hand pressed the young man's shoulder hard against the marble, his body fully dominating. Every movement was measured, unhurried, like a predator savoring every second before devouring its prey.
The sound of short moans and gentle thrusts echoed, blending with the trickle of water from the half-open luxury faucet. The room was now filled with the scent of expensive perfume, alcohol, and burning body heat.
"Quiet..." the man whispered, pressing his lips to the young man's ear. "Out there, they might still hear the music. But in here—you are only mine."
The young man bit his lip, his eyes watery, half-surrendering, half-resisting. His body trembled, yet his hand grabbed the man's collar, pulling him closer—as if admitting, there was nowhere left to run.
And in the glow of the crystal light, in the luxurious marble restroom, they were fully swept away. That night became the witness to the first time power and desire merged in a single intimate explosion—the gong that opened their story.
Their bodies merged further, pressing against each other until no space was left. The sound of heavy breathing and choked moans filled the private room, drowning out the faint thumping of music from behind the door.
The man in black dominated with measured, controlled movements—like a maestro setting the rhythm, bringing his partner to the highest point. His fingers held the slender waist, guiding every movement, while the pull on the hair forced the young man's face upwards, his lips open with moans that could no longer be contained.
The dripping water from the faucet became a faint rhythm, mixing with the occasional clinking of the Cartier gold ring against the marble, adding a luxurious nuance to the wild night.
"You are mine," he whispered, his voice low, firm, as if it were a mantra. Those words struck the young man deeper than any touch, making his body tremble, surrendering completely.
When the climax finally exploded, time seemed to stop. Their bodies were both tense, then collapsed together in a warmth that could no longer be hidden. The cold marble was now a witness to the heat of the embers they released—a brutal yet elegant intimate explosion.
Silence crept in, only the sound of their heavy breathing remained. The man rested his forehead on the young man's shoulder, his hand still holding tight, as if reluctant to let go. The young man slumped, his face flushed, his lips still wet, his eyes half-closed.
In the reflection of the large crystal mirror on the wall of the restroom, two shadows appeared: the classy man with his cold old money aura, and the fragile youth who was now completely consumed in his embrace.
That night, in the luxurious marble room, a beginning was born—a story full of power, desire, and an inevitable bond.