He couldn't escape her—not even in his own mind.
From the moment he'd opened his eyes that morning, she had been there. The way her hips swayed, the tilt of her head when she smiled, the glow of her skin in the light. Every small detail carved itself into his memory, haunting him like a song that refused to end.
And now, with her only a few steps away, the craving inside him grew unbearable.
She wasn't just beautiful. She was temptation disguised as innocence, sweetness wrapped in curves that begged to be traced, to be savored. He ached with the thought of it.
He leaned back against the wall, letting his imagination drift to dangerous places.
In his mind, she lay across a bed, her body framed by the last golden light of evening. Her skin looked warm, glowing, as though the sun had poured itself into her. He imagined holding a piece of chocolate, melting slowly in his hand, brushing it along the curve of her ankle. He pictured himself following the trail with his lips, slow and deliberate, savoring her as though she were the richest dessert he had ever known.
By the time his thoughts climbed higher—past her knees, lingering at the edge of forbidden places—his pulse had already quickened, his breath shallow. He forced his eyes open, dragging himself back into reality.
But reality wasn't kinder.
Her laughter floated into the room, soft and effortless, before she appeared.
And just like that, the fantasy collapsed, replaced by something far more dangerous.
She stood before him, unaware of the fire she carried, the storm she stirred simply by existing. She didn't know what she did to him with every glance, every movement, every smile that curled her lips.
Their eyes met, and he was undone.
She tilted her head, curious at the intensity of his stare. A playful smile tugged at her lips. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
He swallowed hard, words caught in his throat before finally breaking free, low and rough. "Because I can't look away."
The smile faltered, replaced by something softer—uncertainty, maybe, or recognition. The air between them shifted, heavy with something neither of them dared to name.
He stepped closer. She didn't retreat.
The space shrank, leaving only the rhythm of their breaths and the silence that pressed against them like heat. He could smell her perfume now, faint but intoxicating, and feel the warmth radiating from her body.
His hand hovered at her side, trembling with restraint. He wanted to touch her, to pull her against him, to drown in her warmth. But he didn't. Not yet.
Her gaze flickered to his lips, just for a second, but it was enough to send a rush of fire through his veins.
"You don't even realize," he whispered, leaning close enough for his breath to brush her ear, "how impossible you are to resist."
She shivered, her lips parting slightly. For a moment, the room felt smaller, the air thicker, time slower.
Her fingers twitched at her side, brushing against his hand. The light contact jolted through him like lightning, unraveling his last thread of control.
Still, he didn't grab her. He let the torture linger, let his fingers graze hers, feather-light, teasing. Her breath caught, and he knew she felt it too.
Her eyes fluttered shut, surrendering to the closeness.
The temptation to kiss her burned, but he resisted, letting the silence stretch, letting the anticipation coil tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable. His lips hovered near hers, close enough that she could feel the ghost of them without the satisfaction of the touch.
"Then stop resisting," she whispered, her voice unsteady, betraying the same hunger that consumed him.
His resolve shattered.
He lowered his forehead against hers, closing the last sliver of distance until their breaths tangled, hot and uneven. His hand finally found her waist, fingers sliding across her curve with reverent hesitation, as if she were something fragile and sacred. She leaned into him, her body answering what her words had already given.
But still, he didn't kiss her. Not fully. Instead, he brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth, grazing, teasing, promising. Every almost-kiss was a dagger and a gift, making her tremble in his arms.
"You're dangerous," he murmured, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. "You make me want things I shouldn't."
Her soft laugh returned, but this time it wasn't playful—it was breathless, threaded with the same desire burning inside him.
"Then maybe," she whispered, her lips brushing his now, "you should stop thinking… and start wanting."
The world blurred, collapsing into heat, hunger, and the sweetness of her.
And for the first time, he gave in.