Forbidden Desire

Chapter 17: When lust turns into love

The night had a strange stillness, the kind that made the air heavy and the world feel suspended in some invisible thread.

Outside, the city hummed faintly — the distant sound of tires hissing against wet asphalt, a lone horn in the distance, the muffled thud of music leaking from some bar several streets away.

Inside, it was just the two of us, and the quiet wasn’t awkward; it was charged.

Dangerously charged.

Logan was leaning against the kitchen counter, his shirt sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he poured wine into two crystal glasses. His eyes never left mine — that piercing, assessing look that seemed to strip away my skin and find whatever was trembling underneath.

“Red or white?” he’d asked earlier, but it wasn’t really about the wine.

It was about the question he wasn’t asking — the one hanging between us for days now.

Are we crossing the line tonight?

I’d told myself again and again that this thing between us was just physical.

Raw.

A reckless fire we lit in dark corners and put out before daylight could see it.

But something had been shifting. Slowly, silently. And the more I tried to ignore it, the more impossible it became to deny.

When he handed me the glass, his fingers brushed mine.

It was the softest touch, almost accidental, yet it sent an electric wave up my arm.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said, tilting his head slightly.

“I’m thinking,” I replied. My voice didn’t sound like my own — too breathy, too unsure.

“About what?”

His tone was gentle, but I knew Logan well enough now to hear the deeper layer — the curiosity that wasn’t just casual.

I took a slow sip, letting the wine coat my tongue, hoping it would buy me time.

“About… this,” I finally said, gesturing vaguely between us.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “And what’s this?”

It was a game he liked to play — making me put words to things I didn’t want to define.

I looked away, pretending to study the way the shadows danced across the wall.

“You know what I mean.”

“I think I do,” he said, pushing away from the counter. His steps were unhurried as he closed the space between us. “But I want to hear you say it.”

I hated how my pulse spiked when he was near. Hated how his presence pulled me in like gravity, no matter how much my mind screamed at me to keep my distance.

“This was supposed to be simple,” I murmured. “Fun. No strings. No…”

I faltered.

“No feelings?” he offered.

I nodded, and my stomach knotted when he smiled faintly — not mocking, but knowing.

“You really think we’re still there?” he asked softly.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

That night, the tension between us was no longer something we could pretend to manage. He set his glass down on the table and took mine from my hand, placing it beside his without looking away from me.

“Come here,” he said.

And I did — not because he told me to, but because my body was already betraying me.

I stepped closer, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around me, warm and intoxicating.

His hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair as his forehead rested against mine.

“This,” he said, voice low and steady, “stopped being just lust a long time ago.”

My breath caught.

I wanted to argue, to deny it, to hold onto the safe distance I’d tried to maintain. But the truth was staring me in the face — in his touch, in the way my heart was pounding not just from wanting him, but from something deeper, something that scared me far more than desire ever had.

The kiss started slow, almost hesitant, as though we were both testing what this new version of us might feel like. But it deepened quickly, urgent in a way that wasn’t about physical need alone. His hands framed my face, his lips moving against mine with a tenderness I hadn’t felt from him before.

It was terrifying.

Because lust was easy — a flash fire, quick to ignite and quick to burn out.

But this… this was a slow, steady flame that could last.

Later, when we ended up tangled in his sheets, it was different from all the other nights. Yes, there was heat, there was hunger — there always was with Logan — but there was something softer threading through every touch, every sigh. He didn’t rush. His hands explored me like he had all the time in the world, like he was memorizing instead of consuming.

And I realized something in that moment: lust takes; love gives.

After, we lay in silence, the moonlight casting silver patterns across the bed. My head rested on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You’re quiet again,” he said, his fingers tracing idle circles on my shoulder.

“I’m trying to figure out what this means,” I admitted.

He exhaled slowly. “It means I’m not letting you pretend anymore.”

I tilted my head to look at him. “Pretend what?”

“That you don’t feel the same way I do.”

My instinct was to retreat, to wrap myself in the armor I’d worn since the day I met him. But for once, I didn’t want to hide.

So I told him the truth.

“It scares me.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t supposed to need you.”

He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“Maybe you don’t. But you want me. And that’s enough for now.”

The rest of the night, we didn’t talk about labels or futures. We didn’t need to.

Something had shifted between us — a silent agreement, an unspoken understanding.

This wasn’t just about lust anymore.

It was about the way his eyes softened when he looked at me.

The way my chest tightened when I thought of losing him.

The way I already knew the sound of his laugh, the weight of his hand on the small of my back, the way he always stood just close enough that I could feel his presence even without touching.

Somewhere between the heat and the hunger, we had stumbled into something far more dangerous:

We had fallen.

And there was no going back.