Midnight Temptation
834 Words
I told myself I wasn’t going to do it.
I lasted until 12:47 a.m.
The house was quiet. Christmas lights blinked softly along the hallway, casting everything in gold and shadow. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure it would wake the entire house.
His door was at the end of the corridor.
Closed.
I stood there for a full thirty seconds.
Then I knocked.
Once.
Silence.
Twice.
The door opened.
He stood there in grey sweatpants and nothing else.
Bare chest. Defined. Calm expression.
But his eyes?
Stormy.
“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.
His voice was lower at night.
Rougher.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“That’s not my problem.”
Cold.
I should’ve turned around.
I didn’t.
“Can I come in?” I asked.
His jaw tightened.
“You shouldn’t even be standing here.”
“Then tell me to leave.”
Silence.
He stepped aside.
That was my answer.
The door shut behind me.
The air in his room was warmer. Thicker. It smelled like him.
He didn’t touch me.
He didn’t come closer.
He just stood there, watching.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“Because you want me to.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His eyes darkened.
“You think you know what I want?”
“I see the way you look at me.”
A muscle flickered in his jaw.
He took one slow step forward.
Then another.
Until I had to tilt my head back to hold his gaze.
“You’re being reckless,” he said quietly. “Walking into my room like this. In the middle of the night.”
His hand came up.
He didn’t touch me at first.
He hovered.
Like he was fighting himself.
“You act bold,” he continued softly, almost mockingly. “But you don’t understand what happens if I stop holding back.”
My breath trembled.
“Then stop.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
His hand suddenly wrapped around my wrist—not painfully, but firmly—and he guided me backward until my spine brushed the wall.
“You don’t get to command me,” he murmured.
The control in his voice sent heat spiraling through me.
“You’re testing limits you don’t even comprehend.”
His free hand braced against the wall beside my head. Trapping me without fully touching me.
“So tell me,” he said quietly, leaning closer, his breath warm against my cheek, “do you enjoy feeling out of control? Or do you just like being difficult?”
My pulse was frantic.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
His lips hovered near my ear.
“You should be.”
His thumb brushed lightly over the inside of my wrist.
My knees nearly gave out.
And then—
He stepped back.
Again.
Just like before.
“Go to bed, Anastasia.”
The dismissal hit harder than any touch.
“Why do you keep stopping?” I whispered.
“Because if I don’t,” he said calmly, “I won’t stop at all.”
Silence.
Tension stretched between us like a wire about to snap.
“Go,” he repeated.
This time, I did.
The Next Morning
He ignored me.
Completely.
At breakfast, he didn’t look at me.
Didn’t speak to me.
Didn’t even stand near me.
When I tried to catch his eye, he turned away.
It was deliberate.
Punishing.
Dad laughed with him like nothing had shifted.
Like last night hadn’t happened.
Like I hadn’t stood in his room, pinned between him and a wall, breathless and wanting.
I followed him outside later, fury bubbling under my skin.
“You’re really going to pretend?” I demanded quietly once we were alone.
He didn’t turn around.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Liar.
“You think ignoring me will fix this?”
He finally faced me.
Cold.
Controlled.
“Yes.”
The word sliced through me.
“You don’t get to walk into my room at midnight and then act offended when I choose not to indulge you.”
Indulge.
My stomach flipped at the implication.
“You wanted to,” I said.
His eyes flashed.
“That’s exactly why I didn’t.”
The air between us felt sharp enough to cut.
“You think this is a game,” he continued quietly. “But I’m the one who gets burned if this explodes. Not you.”
That stung.
“So I’m just some stupid girl throwing herself at you?”
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
Never touching in daylight.
“You’re not stupid,” he said low. “You’re dangerously tempting.”
My heart betrayed me with how fast it beat.
“And if you keep pushing me,” he added, voice dropping even further, “I won’t be the one walking away next time.”
Then he left me standing there.
Alone.
Shaking.
And more determined than ever.
- Writer
