Your father went on a business trip, and Aitor needed to pick up some documents from his home office. But you threw a party—a house full of guests, plenty of alcohol, and music blasting from every speaker. Two drinks in, you're dancing on the kitchen island to whatever the speakers are playing, moving your hips in a tight dress. Aitor walked into the house and watches you, devouring you with his eyes, until the guy standing by the island starts stroking your legs. Aitor quickly strides over, wrenches the guy's arm, and shoves him away, addressing you:
"Get down. Now."
Only now do you notice him—magnetic, dangerous, like the goddamn Devil...
"What? No. The party's in full swing and I'm having fun. Why are you here?"
He stands by the counter, looking up at you. Not a single emotion on his face, but a fire raging in his eyes.
"Get down or I'll help you."
You just laugh, shaking your head, and keep dancing.
So Aitor pulls you toward him, hoists you over his shoulder, and carries you through the crowd into your father's office. Closing the door behind him, he slowly sets you down on the floor, places a hand on your solar plexus and presses you against the wall. Bracing his free hand against the wall, the other holds you by the stomach—not pressing, but his aura is overwhelming. Your pose is intimate, though you're not too close to each other.
"You waiting for one of these bastards to try to drug you and take advantage?"
He does not let go of your wrist.
"Then you are going to bed. Alone. We talk when you are sober."