Forbidden Feelings
1113 Words
The house had finally grown quiet.
Music from the party below had softened into distant laughter, the echoes drifting faintly through the open doors.
Dulce slipped out onto the balcony, needing air—needing space from the thoughts crowding her mind. The night breeze was cool against her skin, a welcome contrast to the restless warmth she carried inside.
She leaned against the railing, exhaling slowly.
Then
“Sorry—” the word left both of them at the same time.
Dulce stiffened as she bumped into someone stepping out from the shadows. Strong hands instinctively caught her by the arms to steady her, firm yet careful. She looked up—and froze.
“Mr. Langford…?” Dulce whispered, her voice barely audible as surprise flickered across her face.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
The space between them was suddenly too small, charged with something invisible yet overwhelming.
Dulce became acutely aware of how close he was—the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth radiating from him, the familiar scent she now associated with an unexplainable sense of comfort.
“I—are you okay?” Charles asked quietly, his voice lower than usual.
“Yes,” Dulce replied she replied, a little too quickly.
“I—I’m fine. Sorry, I didn’t see you,” Dulce said, rushing her words as she tried to explain, her voice betraying a hint of flustered surprise.
“Neither did I,” Charles said, though his eyes lingered on her face as if seeing her far too clearly now.
Their gazes locked.
Something flickered between them—recognition, curiosity, restraint.
Dulce felt it first, a sudden heat blooming beneath her ribs, her pulse quickening without permission. Charles felt it too, unmistakable and dangerous, tightening his jaw as he forced himself not to step any closer.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them—the quiet night, the soft glow of lights behind them, the unspoken awareness humming in the air like a held breath.
“I should—” Dulce began, then stopped.
“So should I,” Charles said at the same time.
Neither moved.
A laugh escaped her, nervous and soft, breaking the tension just enough for reality to slip back in. Charles stepped aside immediately, giving her space, his composure returning like armor snapping back into place.
“Good night, Dulce,” he said gently.
“Good night… Mr. Langford,” she replied, though the title felt suddenly inadequate.
“Charles…” he said quietly, his voice deeper than before.
“Sir?” Dulce asked, curiosity flickering across her face.
“Just call me Charles,” –
“Am I too old for that?” Charles replied with a faint, teasing smile.
“Ah—uh… okay, Charles,” Dulce said softly and hesitated for a second. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks, and she wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or steady her racing heart.
As she walked back inside, her heart still racing, Dulce knew one thing with unsettling clarity: that brief, accidental moment had ignited something neither of them could pretend hadn’t happened.
And Charles, left alone on the balcony, stared out into the night, his grip tightening on the railing.
This is dangerous, he told himself.
But even as the thought formed, he knew—it was already too late to pretend the fire hadn’t been lit.
The night settled over the Langford mansion, the soft hum of distant city lights filling the windows. The party had ended, but the echoes of laughter and splashing water lingered.
Charles sat on the patio, nursing a glass of whiskey, the autumn air brushing against his face. He couldn’t stop thinking about Dulce.
Her presence at Axel’s birthday had been electrifying. Every laugh, every subtle movement, every glance tugged at something deep inside him—something he had long suppressed since Isabella’s passing.
"She’s twenty" he reminded himself firmly. Old enough to be independent.
"But… like Axel’s age… like a daughter’s age. I can’t… I shouldn’t…" Charles continued thinking.
Yet, try as he might, his mind kept returning to her. The memory of her smile, the curve of her neck when she laughed, the warmth in her eyes—it was intoxicating. He felt a pull he could neither name nor resist.
Meanwhile, Dulce lay in her guest room, staring at the ceiling. Her thoughts were a chaotic storm.
“So… he’s Axel’s father,” Dulce whispered, the realization settling slowly as the truth sank in.
She had known Charles was attractive and charismatic, but she hadn’t expected to feel a pull like this—an irresistible tension that made her heart race whenever he was near.
"He’s so mature… protective… strong…
And yet, I feel… drawn to him in a way I can’t explain." she thought, biting her lip.
She shook her head, trying to push the thought away. It wasn’t right. Charles was Axel’s father, a man she had admired from afar but never imagined could become more than that.
And yet, the universe seemed to conspire against propriety, placing them in moments—tiny touches, accidental brushes, lingering glances—that neither could ignore.
The next morning, breakfast was quiet. Axel chatted with friends, oblivious to the undercurrent between his father and Dulce. Charles, however, found it increasingly difficult to focus. Every time Dulce laughed, he felt a twinge in his chest—a longing that was both thrilling and terrifying.
Later that day, as Dulce reached for a glass on the counter, their hands brushed. It was fleeting, almost accidental, but both felt the electricity jump through them. Charles pulled back slightly, heart pounding.
“Sorry,” Dulce said softly, her cheeks tinged with pink.
“No, it’s… nothing,” he replied, his voice steady, though his pulse betrayed him.
Neither spoke of the moment again, but the tension lingered like a silent melody—beautiful, intoxicating, and forbidden.
Charles knew he needed to set boundaries, to remind himself of the propriety, of his role as a father. But as the day wore on, he realized the line between admiration and something more was blurring.
And for Dulce, every smile, every word from him was a spark that threatened to ignite a fire she wasn’t ready to control.
By evening, Charles walked the balcony alone, staring at the stars. He whispered under his breath, almost as if confessing to the night itself:
“I shouldn’t feel this way… but I can’t stop.”
And somewhere deep down, Dulce felt the same pull—a sweet, dangerous attraction she couldn’t resist, no matter how hard she tried.
- Writer
