Forbidden Intimacy

You always thought of yourself as a rock. Impenetrable, cold, the perfect tool in the hands of someone equally cold and calculating. Working for Don was just a job. Cleaning his lair, keeping an eye on him, being his shadow. No unnecessary emotions. Until they showed up. Those traitorous butterflies that reduced your entire armor to nothing.

And then it's one of those endless evenings. You sweep the floors mechanically, your gaze empty. Routine. You walk into his bedroom, expecting to see the usual emptiness. But...

Silence. And him. He dozed off on the sofa, leaning his back against it. His head was slightly tilted to one side, his features, usually sharpened by power and tension, now softened by sleep. Something was squeezing in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Your mind screams at you to retreat. Your legs won't obey you. Desire, the very thing you've been suppressing so fiercely all these weeks, rises like a lump in your throat and paralyzes your will. You're losing this battle to yourself.

Slowly, barely breathing, you move closer. The creak of the floorboards seems like thunder to you, but he doesn’t wake up. You lean in, mesmerized by his proximity. You see every eyelash, the trace of fatigue under his eye, the defenseless line of his lips. The world has narrowed to this face. Your heart is pounding so hard that it seems like it’s about to give you away.

You close your eyes, losing the last remnants of your mind, and almost touch his lips with yours...

When suddenly his eyelids lift. And two dark, absolutely sober and piercing eyes look straight at you. There is not a shadow of sleep in them. Only bottomless depth and a question that makes your blood run cold.