CHAPTER 5: The First Touch
1170 Words
I didn’t remember falling asleep.
All I remembered was Tobi’s voice — low, hypnotic, dangerous in its gentleness — curling around me until the real world faded. But the moment my eyes opened the next morning, his words were still in my head.
You sound different at night.
Less guarded.
More you.
I hated how true that was.
By noon, I’d nearly convinced myself the call was nothing — a late-night lapse in judgment. But when my phone buzzed, every ounce of denial dissolved.
Tobi: Are you home?
Me: Yes. Why?
Tobi: Open your door.
My heart stalled.
I didn’t even realize I was moving until I reached the door. My fingers trembled on the handle. When I opened it, the hallway seemed to shrink.
He was leaning against the wall, wearing a black t-shirt that clung to his body in ways that made breathing feel optional. His eyes — dark, sharp, unforgiving — swept over me slowly, like he was committing every inch to memory.
He didn’t smile.
But his gaze softened.
“Hi,” I breathed.
He didn’t say it back.
He stepped inside without waiting for permission, and the moment he passed me, the air shifted — warmer, thicker, charged.
“Tobi—”
“You left this.”
He held up my file.
I reached for it. Big mistake.
Our fingers brushed.
Just a touch.
Just skin against skin.
But it hit me like fire.
His hand didn’t move away.
He held the file, and my fingers… gently trapped beneath his.
I tried to pull back.
He didn’t let me.
“Dami,” he murmured, his voice low enough to make heat pool between my thighs. “Look at me.”
I lifted my eyes.
Everything inside him — the restraint, the want, the danger — was right there, uncovered.
“You shouldn’t have answered my call last night,” he said softly.
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t have stayed on the line.”
“I know.”
His thumb brushed the side of my hand — slow, exploratory.
“And you shouldn’t be looking at me like that right now.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
I swallowed hard, pulse thudding.
“Tobi… what are we doing?”
He exhaled, a rough, shuddering sound, as if he’d been holding his breath since midnight.
“I’m trying not to touch you,” he said.
“Believe me… I’m trying.”
My knees weakened.
“Then stop trying,” I whispered.
His jaw flexed.
And then he moved.
Not gently.
Not hesitantly.
His hand slid behind my waist and pulled me into him in one swift, commanding motion. I gasped, palms flattening against his chest. His body was hot — impossibly hot — like danger wrapped in human skin.
“Dami,” he warned, breath unsteady.
“This is a bad idea.”
“So stop.”
“I can’t.”
His forehead pressed against mine, his breath mingling with mine. The moment stretched, taut and trembling. His hand rested on my waist — fingers firm, possessive, claiming without permission.
I felt the strength in his grip, the tension, the restraint he was fighting.
And God… I wanted him to lose that restraint.
His nose brushed my cheek.
My lips parted.
He didn’t kiss me.
Not yet.
He hovered, torturing both of us.
“You don’t know me,” he whispered, voice shaking now. “If you did… you wouldn’t let me be this close.”
“Then teach me.”
His curse was low, desperate.
His hand slid up my spine — slow but with a pressure that made my breath hitch.
“Careful,” he murmured against my mouth.
“You don’t know what you’re inviting.”
“I do,” I whispered.
“And I’m inviting you.”
Something inside him snapped.
He grabbed the back of my neck, not roughly but firmly enough to force my breath to catch. His lips brushed mine — once, barely, like a promise he hadn’t decided to keep.
Then he pulled back.
But he didn’t let go.
“You think you want this,” he said darkly. “You think you understand the kind of man I am.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“Then make me care.”
His eyes darkened — completely now.
Heat and danger fused.
“Say it again.”
“Make me care.”
He pulled me in harder, his body flush against mine, every ridge of muscle pressed into my softness. His breath hit my lips.
“You’re going to be the end of me,” he whispered.
Then…
He kissed me.
Hard.
Like a man starved.
Like a man who had been holding back for too long.
Like he needed to taste the sound of my breath.
His hand slipped under my tank top — warm, calloused fingers against my bare waist — not gentle, but deliberate, claiming. I gasped into his mouth.
He swallowed the sound.
His grip tightened.
His tongue teased mine.
Heat shot straight through me, pooling low, making my legs want to give in. Every part of him pressed deeper, demanding, devouring.
But then—
He stopped.
Pulled back sharply, chest rising and falling like he’d just run.
“Dami… God—”
He stepped back.
“Not here. Not like this.”
I blinked, dazed, breathless.
“Why?” I whispered.
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once like he was fighting something heavy inside him.
“Because once I start,” he said, turning back to me, eyes blazing, “I don’t do soft. I don't slow.”
My lips parted.
“And I won’t touch you unless I know you understand that.”
Silence pulsed.
I stepped toward him.
Slow.
Sure.
Certain.
“I don’t want to be soft,” I said.
“And I don’t want to be slow.”
His breath caught.
I touched his chest lightly.
“I want you.”
The air fractured.
He stared at me like he was searching for reasons to leave — and finding none.
“This isn’t a game, Dami.”
“It isn’t to me either.”
Another beat of silence.
Then, with a voice roughened by desire and danger:
“If I touch you again… I won’t stop at a kiss.”
My heart skipped.
“Then don’t stop.”
He groaned — low, broken — and took a step forward—
But his phone rang.
Loud.
Jarring.
He froze.
I looked at the screen.
And his entire expression changed.
Hard.
Cold.
Dangerous.
“I have to go,” he said.
“Tobi—”
He cupped my jaw, kissed my forehead — one soft, agonizing brush.
“This isn’t over.”
Then he left.
Leaving me standing there with trembling legs, swollen lips…
And the terrifying, thrilling knowledge:
I had just let a dangerous man ignite something inside me.
Something he fully intended to come back and finish.
- Writer
