He needed air.
Not from the alley. Not from her.
Just something colder than the memory of her mouth, something to cut through the scent of her skin still clinging to his fingers.
He pushed through the crowd blindly, shoulder grazing some guy in a leather harness, lights flashing in red and purple over his vision like a warning. The bassline cracked against his chest, and someone shouted near his ear, but it was all underwater. Distant.
He didn't even realize he was at the bar until he found himself gripping the edge, knuckles tight, breath ragged. Marble cool under his palms. The bartender didn't even look his way.
Good.
He needed a second. Just one.
He leaned forward, forearms resting against the counter, head bowed. His hips were still tense. His body still wired. She was everywhere—her breath on his neck, her nails on his back, the sound she made when he kissed just beneath her jaw.
He blinked. Hard. Ran a hand through his hair like that could fix something.
It couldn't.
