The night had fallen quiet in Edenia, the streets carrying only faint echoes of laughter from distant bars and the hum of passing cars.
Behind the bistro, the back door creaked open, and Sherina stepped into the narrow alley. The cool air brushed against her damp lashes, a reminder that her tears hadn't fully dried.
She had asked Sid for an early leave, claiming she wasn't feeling well. In truth, she couldn't bear to stay any longer, not after what happened earlier.
Not after seeing him.
Her steps faltered when she noticed a familiar figure at the end of the alley.
Leon was there.
He sat astride his motorbike, one foot on the ground, his broad shoulders hunched forward as his elbows rested on his knees. Between his lips hung a cigarette, swaying faintly as he exhaled. Sherina's chest rose and fell with a soft sigh. Part of her had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that Leon would already have stopped smoking, but she knew it wasn't something a person could abandon overnight. The faint glow of the streetlight painted his sharp jawline in shades of silver and shadow, his gaze already fixed on her.
For a moment, Sherina thought of turning back. Her eyes were still swollen, her body still trembling from the storm she had fought to hide. But something about Leon's presence—solid, unmoving, like a wall against the night—drew her forward.
When she approached, Leon's gaze never wavered from her. Sherina, however, kept her eyes down, afraid he would notice the puffiness around them, the remnants of tears she had tried so hard to hide. She stopped in front of him, silent.
"What's wrong?" Leon's voice was low, steady, though his eyes searched her face.
Sherina didn't answer right away. Instead, she muttered the first thought that slipped out.
"...Smoking?"
There was a pause. Leon took the cigarette from his mouth, twirling it lightly between his fingers before holding it out to her. His hand was large, steady, veins tracing like rivers under his skin.
"It's not lit."
Her eyes flicked to his hand, then back to the harmless cigarette. Relief softened her chest, though her lips only released a faint, "Oh..."
Leon didn't take his eyes off her. "Now, tell me. What's wrong?"
She couldn't. The words felt too heavy. The truth—about Jino Chen, about the way the past had clawed its way back tonight—was a wound she couldn't expose. Not yet.
Instead, her eyes lowered to the cigarette still in his hand. Without thinking, her fingers brushed past it, gently tugging at the cuff of his jacket instead. A quiet plea escaped her lips, barely audible.
"Can you drive me somewhere...?"
Leon stilled, eyes flickering briefly down to her hand.
"Of course. Where?" his answer came without hesitation, warm and certain.
Sherina swallowed, her voice trembling. "Anywhere..."
For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the distant hum of the city. Leon didn't press further. He set the cigarette aside and reached for the helmet resting on his bike. Carefully, he placed it over Sherina's head, his fingers brushing her hair as he fastened the strap beneath her chin. His movements were unhurried, almost tender, as though he was afraid she might break.
"Understood," he murmured.
He helped her onto the bike, his hand firm at her waist, steadying her. Once she was settled, he mounted the motorbike and gripped the handles, leather gloves creaking faintly in the quiet night.
The engine roared to life, echoing against the alley walls. As the motorbike pulled out into the sleeping city, Sherina instinctively wrapped her arms around Leon's waist. At first, it was light—just enough to steady herself. But the farther they went, the tighter she held him.
Her face pressed against his back, breathing in the faint scent of leather and him, her grip trembling not from fear of falling, but from the storm she was holding inside.
Leon felt it—the desperate warmth of her embrace, the silent need behind it. His chest tightened, his hands gripping the handles with more force than necessary, fighting the ache in his heart.
The sudden urgency in her embrace, the way her body pressed closer against his. His heart hammered violently, almost loud enough to be heard over the roar of the engine. His grip on the handles tightened, not because of the road, but because of the storm rising in his chest.
.
The city lights faded behind them as Leon's motorbike sped into the night. The storm followed close—first in whispers, then in cold needles of rain that cut against their skin.
Leon felt the first cold drop land on his glove. Another splashed against his cheek. His eyes flicked to the side mirror, watching Sherina's expression. She was pressed close to him, her cheek against his back, arms tightening around his waist as if she had already read his thoughts.
"Don't stop," she murmured, her voice carried over the growl of the engine. "Keep driving."
A quiet ache stirred in him. Leon gripped the handles tighter, the muscles in his arms tensing as he sped up, slicing across the bridge as rain began to pour in earnest, soaking them both to the bone. Yet beneath the downpour, Leon felt only her—the warmth of her arms clinging, the press of her chest against his back, the steady thrum of her breath that synced with the engine's roar.
.
By the time they left the bridge behind, All that remained was the roar of the engine, the pounding of the rain, and the warmth of Sherina clinging desperately to him as though each mile carried her farther away from something she feared. Her arms circled his waist tighter, her voice trembling against his ear.
"We can stop now."
Leon nodded once. Without a word, he scanned the empty roadside until he spotted an old waiting shed—abandoned and weathered by time. He slowed the bike and guided it gently under its cover, the rain still hammering down just beyond.
The engine cut. Silence, save for the relentless patter of rain. Leon pulled off his helmet, his soaked hair falling in messy strands over his brow. He stood, moving instinctively to help her dismount. His hand closed around her arm, steady, protective.
Her hands lingered on his arm as she slid off, her body unsteady from the long ride. She pulled off the helmet, her soaked hair clinging to her face and neck before she hurried beneath the shed's shelter.
Leon followed, stripping his gloves, tossing aside his jacket. Water cascaded down his shoulders, his tank clinging like a second skin to his chest, outlining the ridges of muscle.
He ran a hand through his wet hair, eyes drawn—against his will—to her.
Sherina was wringing her hair, her soaked long-sleeved top plastered to her skin like a second layer. The fabric was nearly translucent now, revealing the pale outline of her bra beneath, the curves of her breasts rising and falling with her breath. She gathered the hem of her top, twisting it gently to wring out the water, and the motion made her waist curve, her hips tilt.
Leon's breath caught. His body tensed, heat coiling low in his stomach even as the cold rain seeped through him.
How many nights had he imagined this? And yet here she was—real, beautiful, and impossibly close.
Sherina lifted her gaze and caught him staring. She froze. She meant to turn away, to hide, but instead her eyes trailed over him. Leon stood without his jacket, his soaked tank top molding against his broad chest and shoulders, his wet hair falling across his face.
His eyes—those burning eyes—were locked on hers, unflinching.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked.
"Umm..." Sherina's lips parted softly, as if inviting him without words.
That single moment was enough—Leon's restraint shattered.
In two strides, he closed the distance, pulling her against him. His arms locked tight around her waist as his mouth crashed onto hers.
The kiss was deep, hungry, desperate—like a man who had been starved for years.
Sherina gasped into his mouth, but instead of pushing him away, she clung tighter, her fingers sliding into his wet hair. She gasped into the kiss, but her resistance melted almost instantly.
The storm outside only seemed to fuel them. Rain hammered the shed roof, thunder rumbling in the distance, but all Sherina could hear was the sound of their ragged breathing, the clash of lips, the low growl in Leon's throat as he kissed her harder.
Leon's strength lifted her easily, pressing her back against the wall of the shed. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, clinging to him, her body trembling under his hold.
She moaned softly against his lips as she felt him—hard, insistent—between her thighs. She arched against him, feeling the heat of his body despite the cold rain.
Her moans broke between their kisses, sweet and shaky, as Leon's mouth trailed down to her jaw, then to the curve of her neck. His lips and teeth brushed against her wet skin, leaving burning marks where the rain had cooled her.
"Sherina..." he murmured against her pulse, his voice rough and low, trembling with restraint.
His hand slid up her side, trembling with restraint, until his palm cupped the soft weight of her breast through the drenched fabric. His thumb brushed over her hardened peak, Sherina's breath caught, but instead of stopping him, she pressed closer, her forehead falling against his shoulder as if silently pleading.
"Leon..." she breathed, half-moan, half-prayer.
"mhm.." Leon softly groaned as he kissed her ear, making another soft moan from her.
As she lift her head back, He kissed her again, slower this time but deeper, lingering, savoring her taste. Each breath between them was shared, every heartbeat pounding in sync.
When he tore away, His head dropped against her shoulder, their breaths mingling—ragged, desperate.
His self-control was fraying.
Every nerve screamed to take her then and there, but his voice came hoarse, almost a plea.
'No...'
he whispered harshly to himself, his hand still trembling on her breast, her legs still wrapped around him. 'Not here... not like this...'
Sherina bit her lip, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her heart screamed the opposite, her body aching for him, but she said nothing—afraid that if she spoke, she might beg him not to stop.
Leon closed his eyes, his jaw tight. His lips brushing her ear as he whispered, almost in pain,
"Let me... just a little."
Before Sherina could respond, his lips found her neck. He kissed and sucked at her skin, his mouth trailing down to her shoulder, marking her with burning intensity. His hand tightened on her breast, thumb circling her peak through the fabric, teasing, making her moan louder.
Sherina clutched his shirt desperately, her head falling to his shoulder, her voice breaking in a whisper,
"Leon..."
His hardness pressed against her heat, grinding slowly now, and she whimpered, the sound like silk unraveling in the dark. Her thighs tightened around his hips, and he groaned, burying his teeth in her shoulder as if restraint itself was tearing him apart.
.
.
The storm outside softened to a drizzle, as though nature itself was pulling them back from the edge.
Leon forced himself to stop.
Slowly, painfully, he set her gently back on her feet, though his hands lingered at her waist as if reluctant to let her go. His lips pressed one last kiss to her forehead, tender, aching.
Leon draped his jacket over her trembling shoulders, the fabric heavy and warm against her chilled skin. The scent of him clung to it— leather, and rain—and Sherina inhaled softly, her lashes lowering to hide the turmoil in her eyes.
His fingers lingered a moment too long on her shoulders, as if reluctant to let her go. His gaze dropped to her lips again, still swollen from their kiss, and for a heartbeat the temptation roared back, fierce and merciless.
But Leon forced himself to look away, his jaw tightening as he shook his head faintly. He drew a sharp breath, regaining the composure that was slipping through his hands.
"It's late," he murmured, his voice low and rough, betraying the storm still burning in his chest.
"I should take you home."
Sherina's throat worked as she swallowed, her cheeks burning hot despite the cool rain. She couldn't lift her eyes to his, not when her body still remembered the press of his mouth, the strength of his arms, the way his touch had made her legs tremble.
She clenched the edges of his jacket around her, steadying herself, gathering the courage to answer.
"Yes..." she whispered, almost too soft to be heard. Her voice quivered, betraying her.
"Let's go."
Her words were fragile, tender, but Leon heard every syllable. His chest ached at the sound of it, at the sight of her lowered eyes and flushed face.
For a moment, he almost gave in again—almost leaned down to claim her lips once more.
Instead, he inhaled deeply, he stepped back, offering her his hand to guide her back to the bike, his expression composed, though his eyes still carried the embers of what had almost happened.
Sherina placed her trembling hand in his, her touch soft but lingering, as if silently admitting she felt the same ache he did.
They walked to the bike in silence. Their bodies screamed for more, but their hearts knew the night had to end.
.
.
.
At her apartment, They stepped off the bike, Sherina turning to him, her lips still swollen, her eyes pleading.
"You're not coming inside?"
Leon hesitated. His fists tightened, his jaw flexed. Then, with a sigh that sounded like it cost him everything, he shook his head.
"I... need to cool my head."
Sherina didn't answer. Her lips trembled as though she wanted to speak, but nothing came out. She simply stood there, framed by the doorway, her damp hair clinging to her cheeks, her eyes shimmering—pleading silently for him to follow her inside.
Leon felt it. That look almost broke him. For a moment, his restraint wavered, the ache in his chest screaming at him to give in, to take that single step forward and close the door behind them.
But instead, he forced his eyes away, grounding himself in the cool night air.
"Dry yourself..." his voice came low, almost tender, but firm. His gaze flicked back to her one last time.
"...Don't catch a cold."
The words hung heavy between them, so ordinary yet so loaded with everything he couldn't say.
She nodded faintly, stepping back toward her door. "Okay... be careful."
Leon mounted his bike again, but before he started the engine, he lingered. His chest ached with the urge to follow her inside, to ignore reason and lose himself in her completely.
Instead, he forced himself to turn the key. The engine roared to life, its sound loud against the quiet street. He didn't look back again—not because he didn't want to, but because he knew if he did, he wouldn't be able to leave.
Inside, Sherina leaned against the door, her lips still swollen, her body still trembling with the memory of his mouth, his touch, his voice breaking against her skin. She touched her mouth with her fingertips, whispering into the silence.
"That was too close..."
But in her heart, she knew—she wanted it closer still.
.
.
Leon drove straight to the condominium, his knuckles pale against the throttle the entire ride. When he finally parked and made his way upstairs, he didn't greet anyone, didn't look back.
Leon slammed the door behind him, the lock clicked, his breath still ragged from holding himself back. He didn't even bother turning on the lights. His body moved on instinct, taking him straight into the spacious bathroom. His clothes clung uncomfortably, still damp from the rain—and from the memory of Sherina's body pressed against him.
The shower hissed to life, hot water spilling down in sheets of steam. Leon stepped under it fully, tilting his head back, letting the heat strike his skin. His hands pressed flat against the tiles as he tried to steady his breathing. But every drop of water seemed to burn him, each pulse of warmth dragging him back to the shed, to her lips, to her trembling body locked in his arms.
His jaw clenched. He was losing this fight.
Sherina was everywhere—
His hand slid down, desperate. He let out a low, guttural sound—half sigh, half growl— the moment his palm wrapped around his aching length, already so hard it hurt.
He tried to pace himself, but the images were too vivid—her blouse plastered to her skin, revealing the curve of her bra, the outline of her nipples pushing against the thin fabric. He imagined peeling it off, imagined the heat of her bare skin, the way her body would arch under his touch.
His grip tightened, strokes rougher now. The rhythm of the water matched the frantic movement of his hand. His chest heaved, muscles taut with the need for her.
"Sherina…" he whispered, the name breaking out of him like a plea.
Leon's head snapped back against the wall, a hoarse groan ripping from his throat as he spilled into his own hand, hot water washing it away instantly. His body convulsed with release, every muscle shuddering, yet it wasn't enough.
No matter how hard he came, the ache remained, buried deep inside him.
When it was over, Leon leaned heavily against the wall, water still pounding against his back. He dragged his fingers through his soaked hair and let out a long, ragged exhale. The ache remained, stubborn and cruel, twisting deeper in his chest.
He hated himself for needing her this badly, hated that he couldn't have her fully— not until she surrendered to the truth he could already feel burning inside her.
He wanted her.
Not just her body, but her admission, her need to match his own. Until then, every touch of his own hand felt hollow compared to the fire she left in him.
"Damn it…" His whisper cracked in the steam.
"How much longer are you going to make me wait, Sherina? How much longer are you going to make me lose my mind?"
But even that left him unsatisfied.
He stayed under the shower for almost an hour, letting the water beat against his skin as if it could wash away the desire, the hunger, the ache of wanting her.
When he finally stepped out, robe hanging loosely around his hips, he forced himself into his office chair, towel rubbing absently at his wet hair.
That's when he saw it—the file left on his desk.
Leon sat and flipped through the compiled report he had been waiting for. The further he read, the sharper his jaw clenched. Names, details, truths—all laid bare in cold, merciless ink. By the time he finished reading, his lust had hardened into something darker. His smirk was dangerous, his eyes cold as steel.
"Damn." he muttered, the word a mix of disbelief and fury.
He flung the file carelessly onto the desk, letting it scatter like ashes. Then he rolled his chair toward the window, his storm-dark eyes locking onto the familiar outline of Sherina's apartment building.
"Bastard.." he growled, his voice low, dangerous. His fists clenched, knuckles white, the veins in his arm taut with restrained rage.
The steam from the shower still lingered in the room, but Leon's thoughts were colder than ever—split between the burn of desire and the fury coiled in his chest.