Wild Things was a modernly-built club; the exterior painted a blue black, straight and angular, and the dark enchantment spilling from the door everytime someone went in or out, a small taste of the what was inside seeping through. It was hard to overlook it, walking by on the streets of London. Though it didn't stick out like a thorn, one's gaze simply found its way to the seductive club, as if it was beckoning them, seducing them.

But not just anyone could get in. The finest club in London had its standards, and high ones at that. Every hair had to be in place of a man's gelled quiff, and every pearl had to be polished around a woman's neck. You didn't necessarily have to be high status, but you had to look the part. Thus, the prominent divider between its occupants; the wealthy and the ones who desired wealth.

At times, it was easy to see the divide amongst the clubbers. There were signals that any eye could catch, be it the cheap fabric of a suit or a plastic piece of jewlery adorning their wrists.

Other times, the lines were more blurred.

***

A pair of ruby red lips twitched up in the corner. She was more than pleased, looking up into the arrogant green eyes hovering over her. Under the sense of satisfaction though, was a growing insecurity that was overwhelming in its unfamiliarity. This man's attire costed more than what any of her other lovers had in their bank account. This was going to be a great feat, and she prayed her unfailing expertise did not lose its worth now of all times.

A small hand found its way to a thick chest. The muscles under it tensed slightly, but then relaxed as the cold hand pressed into it gently.

"What's your name, Mr. Owner?" she sang with a sweet mockery. It was music to his ears, and he found the sudden urge to hear that beautiful voice moaning his name.

He moistened his lips. "Styles. Harry Styles." He watched as she nodded to herself, her lips parting slightly as they repeated the name in a whisper, but it got lost in the noise around them. He almost growled and shook her until she repeated it louder, just so he could hear it roll off her sweet tongue.

"And you, my love?" His voice was velvety and hoarse all at once, a combination that made the inside of her thighs clench. She bit the inside of her cheek as her hand crept up his chest, further until the pads of her long fingers met the exposed flesh, tugging slightly on the collar of his shirt so the inked image underneath could be better exposed to her. Her dark eyes hardened in concentration as she spoke, studying the two swallows painted on his golden flesh just beneath his thick collar bones.

"Carmen," she replied mindlessly, still fixated on his tattoos. "Carmen Avalos."

Styles narrowed his eyes momentarily. The name was vaguely familiar, as if spoken of once around him, but his attention had probably been elsewhere at the time. It was a beautiful, strong name, and even after knowing the woman standing before him for five minutes, he found that it fit her just perfectly.

"Well, Carmen," he was sure to let his accent strengthen on her name. Just like Carmen, his words and movements were practiced, a wisdom gained from experience behind them. "Perhaps I could show you around before my limo arrives. You know, to fill the void."

Carmen fought an arrogant grin. All men are the same, she thought to herself with an inward roll of her eyes. No matter how much money was in their pocket, or how much power behind their gait, they could all be manipulated by a pretty face and a sweet smile.

"Of course," she spoke. "We wouldn't want the owner of the finest club in London to not be entertained while he awaits his limousine. That would just be cruel."

Styles smirked, a refreshing aura of control being emitted from the Spanish beauty. Her words were tainted with an arrogant humor, as if, much to his surprise, she wasn't at all swayed by his name and the status that went with it. He had suspected her to falter in the seductive, confident act, but she failed to prove him right, eyes still glistening with mischief.

"I'm glad we're seeing eye to eye." His bleached white teeth revealed themselves as he grinned. He tugged slightly on the hem of his sleeve before extending his arm out for her to hold on to. No words needed to be spoken. Carmen wrapped her arm around his, a moan nearly escaping her lips as she felt the silky fabric of his suit.

It felt like money.

She was proud, hanging on the arm of the richest man in London. Every step of her Louis Vuitton heels emitted even more arrogance than before, her hips swaying to a new rhythm, and the tight purse of her lips challenged every pair of eyes that landed on her. There was a sort of dependence already forming between her and the man whose arm she was holding. Or perhaps, it was a dependence on something else.

He guided her through the swollen mass of people, a visible path forming as they walked by, bodies moving out of the way in fear of being the next James Keller. The loud buzz of music filled Carmen's ears, blocking out any thoughts in her head. Not that she needed them, anyway; her entire act was natural, and required no thought or hesitance. When a lioness locks her jaw on the flesh of her prey, there is no need to think, but rather devour and pick the bones from her teeth afterwards.

She tilted her head up towards the expressionless face above her. She watched as his jaw remained still and clenched, his rosy lips pursed in a straight line. It was as if there wasn't a beautiful woman attached to his arm, her footsteps easily keeping up with his. Had she not known what kind of man Mr. Styles was, she might have felt insecure about this. But, after watching him play a crafty game of poker, she knew exactly what kind of man he was, and this knowledge only made her smirk slither further up and her chin raise.

Styles guided her to an area of the club where the loud music and blaring voices could not reach. In the back, was a long, skinny hall with doors lining it. The only feet that had walked this hall were his, and whatever woman had been clinging to his arm that night. The lights were dim, the air cool, and Carmen knew just what he was doing.

He guided her to the second door, stopping just before it and having to drop her arm from his so he could dig into his pockets for the key. The jangle of metal sounded as he searched for the right one, before unlocking the door and swinging it open. Carmen ran her hand through her hair, her almond-shaped nails combing through the perfectly curled strands, before ambling inside behind him.

The room was lighted with a dull glow. The walls were the color of Merlot, and the carpet was as black as Carmen's dark locks. Her eyes roamed around, observing the sleek leather of the furniture and the contemporary art adorning the walls, before settling on the tall figure whose back was facing her as he waded at the small bar in the corner. She glided her tongue over the red layer of wax on them, trailing her gaze down his broad shoulders to the length of his legs, where his black slacks hung loose around them. She watched as he began to cook up a drink, his hands reaching and grabbing various bottles and adding their contents into a shaker.

The only sound was the faint splashing of the drinks being mixed as Carmen soundlessly made her way over to the black, leather couch, placing her hands under the short hem of her dress as she lowered herself. Her posture was relaxed and smooth, the soft protrude of her hips jutting out as she leaned her arm against the back of the couch. She hummed lightly to herself, keeping her eyes on the back of the man across the room from her. Even from that far, her senses could pick up the rich cologne oozing from his body, rolling in waves towards her and inducing the haze already set in her mind from the aclohol. It made a slow burn start to ignite in her stomach, a burn that ached for to taste the cologne on his skin.

She watched casually as he turned to her, holding two glasses in his hands. Her eyes roamed his face, but there was nothing but his handsome features, and his unreadable eyes. Her teeth grazed the inside of her cheek; there was something so alluring about this man's indifference. She always loved a challenge.

He sat down beside her, handing her a glass. Her elegantly carved fingers wrapped around it slowly, but her attention was elsewhere as she continued to gaze at his face. He was handsome, no doubt, but certainly like no man she had ever feasted upon the sight of. His eyebrows, dark and slightly curved, seemed to be permanently lowered over his emerald eyes, as if he was always deep in thought. The strong tension in his jaw made it appear even thicker, emitting the faux expression that he was angry, which probably intimidated most people, but it only drew her in deeper.

And then there was his untamed mane of hair. It hung just above his broad shoulders, the ends curving slightly so that when he walked they brushed against his neck and jaw. She could only imagine being able to run her hands through it, combing it as he hovered over, feeling the thick loose curls and tugging on them tighter with each of his thrusts.

She let her eyes close for a moment, breathing calmly through her nose as she regained her composure. This man's sex appeal was dangerous just as it was praiseworthy; she couldn't let him have the upper hand, at any time.

"What do you think?" came a hoarse voice as she took a small sip from the drink in her hand. Styles had already nerly emptied his glass, while hers was still nearly to the brim.

Carmen licked her lips, furrowing her perfectly drawn brows as she reminisced on the sweetly bitter flavor. It was, different if anything. Bold. The bitter taste of alcohol toned down by the sugary undertones, but not so much that it was overwhelming. She found herself taking another sip, a much larger one, the liquid burning down her throat and loosening her mind.

"You're quite the mixologist, Mr. Styles.," her voice slithered.

His rosy lips, glistening with the coat of the drink on them, twitched up into a grin, but he tried to hide it by shrugging indifferently. "You pick up on some things when you own a bar."

It was quiet then, as she continued to sip away at her drink. But it was silent, not in the slightest; their intense gazes were almost deafening. His pair of green, hard eyes stared intently at her, in all her temptatious being. His hard gaze blatantly trailed the swell of her breasts, which were covered just enough to leave some for the imagination, and then down the length of torso, to where the red fabric of her dress ended, leaving what seemed like miles of bare legs for him to indulge upon the sight of.

He looked back to her eyes. Sultry and dark, just like her stature. Styles found himself searching for any faltering in their undyingly confident gaze, but found no such thing.

Carmen placed her empty glass on the table beside the couch, before shifting her body closer to his. It was time for action, she decided, and let her hand creep up to his shoulder, rubbing it slightly as she tugged him closer to her. She let her breath, chilled with the alcohol, run over his face, and for the slightest moment, with her trained eyes, she saw his seemingly impenetrable facade falter. He swallowed hard, the notch in his throat bobbing. Other than that, there was nothing on his hard features and tense body; just like her, he desired to have the upper hand. To be in control.

"You smell nice," she said softly, her eyes fixated on her fingers as they brushed over the bit of his thick collarbone that peeked out from under his suit.

He only hummed in response, too distracted by the her legs which were inching closer to him, and the smooth pads of her fingers that continued to dance lightly over his skin.

"What is it?" she asked lowly, taking an inhale of his rich scent. It was strong in its subtlety, a soft blend of musk and mint.

If Carmen moved any closer to him, her body would've been settled on his lap. Her bare thighs pressed against his silk-clad ones, and he felt a hum of satisfaction vibrate through him, loving the feel of her so close, with her dark locks curtaining over her pearly face, and her cleavage lowering as she maneuvered herself towards him.

"Clive Christian," he muttered in response, but his attention was elsewhere- on her. And she knew it. She was well aware of the racing pulse in his chest as she dragged her fingers over there, and it made her arrogance swell. Her face leaned forward, so that strands of her hair danced in front of his wavering face. The hard expression he was wearing was dissolving before her very eyes, and with that knowledge, she pressed her ruby red lips to his.

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