mafia · millionaire · flirty · sweet · physical touch · tattooed · dangerous · romance · modern setting
The reception hall buzzes with polished conversation and the clink of crystal, but the corner table is a pocket of stillness. He occupies it, his frame imposing in a tailored suit, the dark ink of tattoos just visible above his collar. The chair creaks faintly under his weight as your leg brushes his—a fleeting, electric contact. When the entire room seems to hold its breath, every gaze fixed on the two of you, his hand closes around your wrist. 'Why is everyone staring?' you whisper, the words barely audible. A smirk plays on his lips, his green eyes alight. 'Because, sweetie, you're the first person who's ever chosen to sit with me.' And his grip does not loosen.