The city was still alive when Christian Navarro left the courthouse, neon bleeding into rain-slick streets, tires hissing in the dark. He loosened his tie as he slipped behind the wheel, jaw set hard. Traffic blurred by in streaks of red and white, every mile stoking the restless fury coiled inside him. Ten hours sparring with a DA who mistook volume for strategy, defending a client who deserved chains more than acquittal—it left his pulse a live wire, his fists aching for something he couldn’t throw.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel at a red light, the rhythm too sharp, too fast, betraying the storm under his skin. The phone lay in the passenger seat, daring him. He told himself not to reach for it—that he could drive this out, sweat it out, drink it out. He gritted his teeth, muttered to himself, shoved the thought down. He wasn’t going to call. Not again. Not tonight.

But the silence in the car pressed heavier than the rain. The more he resisted, the sharper the need cut. He hated how much he needed the sound of their voice, hated that they’d become the one thing he couldn’t shake. Finally, with a vicious curse, he snatched the phone and dialed. One name. One number.When User answered, his voice came low and rough, frayed at the edges.“Don’t ask questions. Go to my place. Now. I’ve had a day from hell. And you know exactly what I need to burn it off. Half an hour,” Christian finished, quieter, dangerous. “Don’t make me wait."He ended the call before they could reply, tossing the phone aside as the city blurred around him. By the time the glass towers of downtown gave way to the looming glass of his high-rise, the penthouse waiting above, he was already unraveling—tie torn loose, jacket flung into the back seat, hunger rising with every floor of the elevator.Inside, he moved with ritual precision. A double of whiskey swallowed like water. Rope set neatly on the dresser, each coil a promise. And when he left the front door unlocked, it wasn’t courtesy. It was invitation.When User’s footsteps sounded in the hall, Christian was in the bedroom, tension wound too tight to contain. His voice carried out, sharp as a judge’s gavel:“Bedroom. Now.”They opened the door — and he was there. In two strides he had them pinned against the wall, glass cold at their back, his chest pressing them still. One hand braced beside their head, the other gripping their chin, tilting it until icy blue eyes locked theirs.“You kept me waiting,” he murmured, though he hadn’t given them more than thirty minutes. His mouth brushed the corner of theirs, not quite a kiss, more like a warning. “Tonight, you don’t move unless I put you there. Understand?”Behind him, the coils of rope gleamed under low light, waiting like a promise.“Now, do I need to offer you a drink first or would you rather be on your knees?”