Dangerous Curiosity
746 Words
I avoided him for exactly three hours.
Three long, torturous hours of pretending I wasn’t hyperaware of where he stood, who he talked to, how his voice dipped lower when he laughed.
Every time someone said his name, my pulse spiked.
Pathetic.
I slipped into the kitchen to breathe. To reset. To remind myself I wasn’t some desperate girl fantasizing about her father’s best friend like a reckless little—
The door shut behind me.
Locked.
The click echoed.
I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
My body already knew.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
I turned slowly.
“Like what?”
He stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest now, apron gone. Just a fitted black shirt clinging to him and those low-sitting sweatpants that were going to be the death of me.
“Like you’re trying to get me in trouble.”
My laugh came out breathless. “You’re a grown man. No one can ‘get you’ anywhere you don’t want to go.”
His eyes darkened.
Wrong answer.
He pushed off the door.
One step.
Then another.
Slow.
Predatory.
I swallowed but refused to step back.
“If you think this is a game,” he continued quietly, “you’re going to lose.”
“Oh?” I tilted my chin. “And what exactly am I playing?”
His gaze dragged down my body.
Unhurried.
Claiming.
“You’re testing how far you can push before I stop being polite.”
Heat rushed between my thighs at the warning in his voice.
“You wouldn’t,” I whispered.
I should have stepped away.
I didn’t.
He stopped inches from me. Close enough that I felt his warmth. Close enough that my chest brushed his when I inhaled.
“Don’t,” he said again.
But this time it wasn’t a warning.
It sounded like restraint.
Like he was fighting himself.
“You keep looking at me like you want something,” he continued. “Like you don’t care whose house this is. Who your father is.”
His jaw tightened.
“And that makes you dangerous.”
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
“Maybe I don’t care,” I said softly.
That did it.
His hand shot out, gripping my waist—not rough, but firm. Possessive. Like he was proving something. To me. To himself.
“You should care,” he said, leaning down so his mouth was near my ear. “Because if you keep acting like this, you’re going to make me forget every line I swore I wouldn’t cross.”
My breath stuttered.
He smelled like smoke and winter air and sin.
“I’m not a little girl,” I said.
His grip tightened slightly.
“I know.”
The way he said it sent a tremor through me.
“I see that.”
My skin burned where his fingers touched me. I wanted more. Wanted him to lose that control he wore like armor.
“You think you can handle this?” he asked quietly.
The question wasn’t gentle.
It was almost mocking.
Like he already knew the answer.
I lifted my gaze to his. “Try me.”
Silence.
Thick.
Electric.
His thumb brushed slightly against my waist—barely movement, but enough to make my knees weak.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he said. “You think this is some fantasy. Some little rebellion.”
His eyes dropped to my lips.
“If I touch you the way I want to, there’s no pretending after that.”
My pulse skipped.
“Then don’t pretend.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
For a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me.
Instead—
He stepped back.
Just one step.
But it felt like falling off a cliff.
“You’re playing with fire,” he said, voice rougher now. “And when you get burned, don’t cry about it.”
He unlocked the door.
Before leaving, he looked at me one last time.
Not polite.
Not friendly.
Hungry.
“Fix your expression before you walk back out there,” he added quietly. “You look like you’ve just been thoroughly misbehaving.”
Then he left.
And I stood there trembling.
Because for the first time since he arrived…
He wasn’t the only one losing control.
- Writer
