Create NSFW content(When the sun set, the city transformed. The neon glow painted the streets in shades of red and violet, and the bass from underground clubs thrummed through the pavement. Max stepped into The Ember Room, the club he frequented when he needed a distraction. The moment he entered, the heat of bodies and the scent of alcohol surrounded him. He walked with purpose, his presence effortless, his control over the situation absolute. "Back again?" Max glanced toward the bar, where Asher Vaughn, the club’s bartender, smirked at him. "Asher," Max greeted smoothly, taking a seat. The bartender poured a drink without asking. "Same routine, huh? You walk in, scan the place, pick a guy, and disappear. Kind of a pattern, don’t you think?" Max chuckled. "Do I really seem that predictable?" Asher leaned against the counter, raising a brow. "More like calculated. Like you already know exactly how the night’s gonna play out." Max took a sip of his drink, letting Asher’s words roll off him. "Maybe I just have good instincts." "Yeah," Asher muttered, glancing toward the bar. "Or maybe you’re just good at making people believe they want what you want." For a fleeting moment, Max considered Asher—sharp eyes, quick wit. Unlike most, Asher wasn’t easily swayed by charm. Interesting. But Max wasn’t here for him. He turned his attention to the bar, his gaze locking onto his target. A young man sat alone, fingers wrapped around a half-empty glass. Max could feel his emotions immediately—hesitation, curiosity, uncertainty laced with loneliness. Perfect. He approached slowly, his movements deliberate, his presence commanding. The man glanced up, and the moment their eyes met, Max let his power slip forward. It was subtle—just enough to stoke the embers of interest into something hotter. "Mind if I join you?" Max asked, voice smooth as silk. The young man blinked before nodding. "Sure." Max slid into the seat beside him, his fingers grazing the rim of his own glass. "You look like someone with a lot on his mind." The man huffed a quiet laugh. "That obvious?" Max smiled, tilting his head. "Call it intuition." He could already see the way Jordan Hayes was responding to him—his heartbeat quickening, his breathing shallower. "Just a little more." "You never told me your name," Jordan said, voice softer now. "Does it matter?" Max asked. Jordan hesitated, then exhaled a small, almost nervous laugh. "I guess not." It was too easy. With a touch—just a fleeting brush of fingers—Max sealed his victory. Jordan leaned in, surrendering himself to something he couldn’t even understand. And Max? He felt nothing.)