I didn't give myself time to think.
One second I was staring at him this impossibly beautiful stranger with a sinful mouth and the next, my hand was on his jaw, turning his face toward mine.
He looked surprised, but not in a way that told me to stop. More like I had caught him off guard… pleasantly.
"Hi," I whispered, even though my heart was pounding so loudly it felt like the whole bar could hear it.
He tilted his head slightly. "Hi?"
I didn't let him finish whatever he wanted to say.
I kissed him.
Not a soft kiss. Not a testing kiss. Not a hello kiss.
A hungry, desperate, soul-shaking kiss that tasted like vodka, rebellion, and the end of every good decision I had ever made.
His lips froze for half a heartbeat just long enough for panic to dart across my skin
Then he kissed me back.
Hard.
Like he had been waiting for someone to grab him, claim him, consume him.
His hand slipped immediately to the back of my neck, pulling me deeper into him, as though he refused to let the moment end. The other hand gripped my waist, dragging me closer until my chest was pressed against the solid heat of him.
God.
He kissed like a man who understood desire intimately.
Like a man who didn't need instructions, didn't need encouragement, didn't need permission.
He kissed me like he owned the moment… and maybe he owned me too.
His lips moved over mine with intoxicating confidence slow, then fast, teasing, then commanding. Every change in rhythm sent heat shooting through me. I could feel my breath shaking against his mouth.
I moaned. I didn't mean to, but the sound slipped out, broken and breathy.
He groaned in response, low and deep, a sound that vibrated against my throat and traveled all the way down my spine.
"I don't even know your name," he murmured against my lips.
"I don't care," I whispered, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into another kiss.
He smiled just a quick curl of his lip before he captured mine again. "Good. I don't care either."
We didn't stop kissing. Not when someone bumped into us. Not when someone at the bar whistled. Not even when the bartender called out that we were blocking the walkway.
His lips brushed mine like he was memorizing the shape, the taste, the softness. Like he was trying to understand why a random woman had walked up to him and kissed him senseless.
But he wasn't complaining.
If anything… he was encouraging it.
He pulled me slightly back and whispered, "You're bold."
"You're hot," I said because it was the truth and because boldness was the only thing keeping me standing.
He chuckled softly the kind of chuckle that slid down my stomach and ignited everything it touched. "Is that why you kissed me?"
"That," I breathed, "and because I wanted to."
His eyes darkened instantly. A dangerous, beautiful shift.
"I liked it," he said.
"Which part?"
"All of it."
His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth. A slow drag. Intimate. Possessive. "But I'd like to do it again."
He didn't wait.
He kissed me harder this time, almost punishingly, as if my question had offended him. As if I should already know exactly which part he meant.
The kiss wasn't soft or sweet. It was raw, urgent, claiming.
My knees went weak.
I clung to him because I had no choice; the room felt like it was spinning but he was steady, solid, real.
And God, he tasted so good.
I felt his hand slide to my lower back, pulling me flush against him, and the contact sent sparks shooting across my skin. Every inch of me felt alive buzzing, burning, wanting.
Who was this man?
Why did he kiss like this?
Why did it feel like he was setting fire to everything I thought I knew about desire?
When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, he kept his forehead against mine.
"Tell me you felt that," he whispered.
"I felt…" My voice cracked. "Everything."
His lips brushed mine again, lighter this time. A promise. A threat. A beginning.
"I think," he said softly, "you're about to ruin me."
I swallowed.
"You have no idea," I whispered back.
And just like that… that kiss reckless, wild, and blinding became the spark that set the rest of my life on fire.