Chapter 3: Dangerous Attraction
1800 Words
Chapter 3: Dangerous Attraction
(Dominic POV)
“Yes,” she said.
For a brief moment, I thought I had misheard her. I almost told her to forget it, to walk away while she still could, because she looked too young to be making a decision like this with a man like me.
But then she looked up again, steady and certain, and whatever restraint I had left slipped quietly out of reach.
I studied her face, searching for hesitation, for doubt, for anything that would give me an excuse to stop this before it started. I found none. If anything, she seemed more certain than she had a few seconds ago.
Interesting.
“Well then,” I said quietly.
I took her hand and guided her off the dance floor.
We didn’t speak much as we walked out of the club. The noise faded behind us, replaced by the cool night air as soon as the doors opened. My car was already waiting at the curb, and the driver stepped out the moment he saw me.
I opened the back door and glanced at her. “After you.”
She slid in without hesitation.
I followed, shutting the door behind us as the car pulled away. For a moment, the only sound inside was the low hum of the engine and the distant city noise filtering through the glass.
Then I looked at her properly.
She sat beside me, composed but not unaffected. Her dress had shifted slightly, the fabric riding higher along her thigh, and I noticed more than I should have. The passing streetlights traced soft patterns across her skin, catching the curve of her legs, her collarbone, her lips.
She looked young. Too young for the thoughts forming in my mind.
That realization should have stopped me.
It didn’t.
My hand moved before I thought better of it, settling lightly against her thigh. Her skin was warm, softer than I expected, and she stiffened for a brief second, that small, sharp inhale giving her away. I didn’t remove my hand. Instead, my thumb moved once, slow and deliberate, just enough to test her reaction.
She didn’t pull away.
Good.
The tension in the car thickened, quiet but undeniable. I was aware of my driver in the front seat, aware of the situation, aware of how easily this could cross into something reckless.
And yet, none of it seemed to matter.
By the time we pulled into the underground parking garage of my building, the silence between us felt heavier than the music we had left behind.
The car stopped.
I turned to her. “Are you sure about this?”
She met my gaze without hesitation.
“This is your last chance,” I added calmly. “You can walk away before this becomes a mistake.”
The driver stepped out and opened the door.
She got out first, and for a moment, I thought she might leave. Instead, she turned back, closing the distance between us in a few steady steps.
Then she leaned forward and kissed me.
It wasn’t hesitant or unsure. It was quick, deliberate, confident enough to catch me off guard.
When she pulled back, she looked up at me.
“Can you lead the way?” she asked.
I held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Nineteen. Bold enough to make the first move. Standing in my parking garage like she belonged there.
That alone should have been a warning.
“This way,” I said.
---
The elevator was small enough that I could feel the warmth coming off her skin. She stood slightly ahead of me, watching the floor numbers climb, pretending to be calm. She wasn't.
I said nothing. Silence had always been more effective than unnecessary words.
By the time the doors opened, the tension between us had settled into something sharper.
---
My penthouse took up the entire top floor.
She stepped inside first and paused, taking it in without trying to hide her reaction. The floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the room, the city spread out below like something distant and irrelevant. The lighting was low, deliberate. Everything was exactly where it should be.
She turned slowly, not pretending she wasn’t impressed, but not commenting either.
Smart.
I walked past her toward the bar and poured myself a drink.
“Tell me something,” I said without turning around. “Do you always go home with men you just met?”
There was a pause behind me.
“Only the dangerous ones,” she replied.
I took a slow sip before turning back to her.
She stood in the middle of the room, relaxed but alert, watching me like she expected me to make the next move.
Most women in her position would have filled the silence with nervous conversation. Zara Cole did not.
I set my glass down and crossed the room toward her, slower than necessary, giving myself time to reconsider.
I didn’t.
When I stopped in front of her, there was barely any space left between us.
I reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger slightly.
“You’re nervous,” I said.
“I told you I’m not.”
I studied her for a moment, then let my thumb trace lightly along her jaw.
“You’re standing in a stranger’s penthouse at midnight,” I said. “If you weren’t nervous, I’d be concerned.”
Her chin lifted slightly. “Maybe. Does it matter?”
I held her gaze for a second longer before leaning down and kissing her.
This wasn’t like the kiss in the parking garage. That had been brief, almost testing. This was slower, deliberate, meant to see how far she would go.
She didn’t hesitate.
Her hands came up, gripping my shirt, pulling me closer, and whatever restraint I had left disappeared completely.
I deepened the kiss, my hand moving to her waist, drawing her against me. She responded fully, without holding back, and that alone pushed me further than I intended to go.
When I pulled back, we were both breathing differently.
I said nothing. I didn’t need to.
I took her hand and led her down the hallway.
---
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the city lights filtering through the windows.
She stepped inside, and I followed, closing the door behind us.
I turned her toward me and kissed her again, slower this time, letting it build. My hand slid into her hair while hers moved to my chest, working through the buttons of my shirt with quiet focus.
I guided her back until she sat at the edge of the bed.
For a moment, I just looked at her. Then I reached for my belt.
Her hand stopped me.
“Wait.”
I stilled immediately.
She wasn’t pulling away. Her hand rested flat against my chest, her expression steady, thoughtful rather than uncertain.
She studied me for a moment before speaking.
“Do you have protection?”
I held her gaze. “I’ll be careful.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
There was no hesitation in her voice. No awkwardness. Just clarity.
Something shifted slightly at that.
“Fine,” I said.
She watched me for another second, then nodded once.
“Okay.”
That was all she needed.
She reached up and finished unbuttoning my shirt herself.
---
After that, whatever restraint had been left between us was gone.
I pulled her closer, lowering her onto the bed, taking my time just enough to feel every reaction, every shift in her breathing, every small sound she tried not to make. She wasn’t shy, not really. There was curiosity there, confidence, something reckless that matched my own.
I let myself take control fully then, not rushing but not holding back either, learning her reactions quickly, adjusting to them, pushing just enough to draw more from her each time.
She responded without hesitation, without the kind of uncertainty I had expected from someone her age. If anything, she met me halfway, matching the intensity in a way that made it difficult to pull back.
And I didn’t try.
By the time it was over, the city outside had gone quiet, and the tension that had built between us all night had burned itself out into something slower, heavier.
---
I woke before she did.
That alone was unusual.
I didn’t stay in bed after nights like this. I didn’t linger, didn’t watch, didn’t think about it longer than necessary.
But I hadn’t moved.
I lay there, staring out at the city as morning settled in, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar stillness in my chest.
I didn’t bother naming it.
Beside me, she stirred.
She woke gradually, then sat up without confusion, already collecting herself. No panic. No awkwardness. Just quiet awareness of where she was and what had happened.
Smart.
She reached for her dress without looking at me.
“I have a lecture,” she said.
“What time?”
“Nine.”
I glanced at the time. Just past seven. I reached for my card and held it out to her.
She took it, turning it over once before slipping it into her bag.
“My driver will take you,” I said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
She nodded once.
Then she left.
---
I stayed where I was for a moment longer than necessary before getting up.
The apartment felt different now. Quieter.
I picked up my phone.
---
Marcus answered on the second ring.
“It’s early.”
“I need you to find someone.”
A pause. “Name?”
“Zara Cole. University student. Works at a bar. Nineteen.”
Silence. “Dominic—”
“Just find her.”
I ended the call.
---
The file arrived within the hour.
I sat at the counter with my coffee and opened it.
Zara Cole. Nineteen. Student. Works part-time. No family backing. Everything she had, she had built herself.
I scrolled through slowly, taking in details without much interest until I reached a photograph.
I stopped.
Her. Laughing.
Leaning into a young man with his arm around her shoulders like he had every right to be there.
I recognized him immediately.
Ryan Hale.
My son.
I stared at the screen longer than I should have, the pieces fitting together in a way that didn’t sit right.
The quiet in the apartment shifted.
I set the cup down carefully, then leaned back, running a hand through my hair.
For a long moment, I said nothing. Then I looked at the photo again.
At her.
At him.
And finally, I spoke.
“So…”
I exhaled slowly.
“I f****d my son's girlfriend.”
- Writer
