INTRUSION.
I wasn't supposed to be here.
But I had been slipping into his house for months, unnoticed.
A ghost in his halls. A shadow in his chairs.
That night, I waited for him to leave — again.
My car, a coffin of anticipation.
The mansion glowed under the storm, veins of lightning cracking the sky open.
Rain hissed against the windshield, a serpent's tongue.
I didn't mind the cold.
Didn't mind the wet seeping through my clothes, clinging to my skin like a second layer.
The street was empty.
Only the mansion's lights watched me — yellow eyes in the dark.
And that silence. The kind that hums before a blade cuts.
I had been there for hours.
But I am patient.
Too patient.
Finally, I saw his car pull out.
I smiled as I slipped on my gloves and watched him drive away.
The gate's code had changed.
00-07-77.
I knew. I always knew.
The lock clicked, obedient.
My smile tasted like copper.
I moved confidently through the shadows.
I could have done it with my eyes closed.
I knew the way by heart.
Inside, the air was thick with him: tobacco, aged leather, the musk of his cologne clinging to the walls.
I inhaled until my head spun.
Until my ribs ached.
His office door loomed — dark wood polished to a mirror.
I pressed my palm against it.
"Hello again," I whispered.
The scent was still there.
It was always there.
Documents, a monitor, a laptop, a half-empty box of cigars, and two used glasses.
I picked up one and smelled it.
Then the other.
And then I smiled.
It was his.
I ran my fingers over the brown leather chair.
I sat down and spun slowly.
I could feel his warmth…
even though he wasn't there.
I pressed myself against the surface, imagining the filthiest things.
I closed my eyes.
And for a moment…
it felt like he was right there with me.
I felt it all: his scent, his skin, his wet lips.
I leaned my head back against the edge.
Aroused.
My fingertips traced my thighs.
I was completely lost in that delirious haze when…
"You really should stop doing this."
My eyes flew open and I sat up sharply.
He was standing in the doorway.
Still. Filling the entire space.
Not surprised.
Just… tired.
"Why are you in my house?" he asked.
And his voice was a dark, raspy whisper.
I didn't scream.
I didn't run.
I didn't stammer an excuse.
I just swallowed and looked at him.
Because after all this time…
he was finally looking at me.
And I knew instantly that he knew.
Every single time. He had known.
He changed the code — probably hoping I wouldn't return.
But I did. Every time.
And here I was.
His calm threw me off.
I stood up slowly.
"Because you never came for me," I said, gripping the edge of my blouse.
"And I got used to taking what I want."
A beat.
The air between us, thick as blood.
His hand moved toward his phone.
"I'm calling security."
I laughed. A dry, broken sound.
"Go ahead. But think — do you really want them seeing what's in your desk? What's on your screens?"
His jaw tightened.
The phone slipped. Just an inch.
Enough.
A silence. Uncomfortable.
Our eyes met.
And I waited.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
Barely.
Then he let the phone go.
"Not yet," he said at last.
"First… I want to hear you say it."
I stepped closer.
Close enough to see the pulse in his throat.
Close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath.
"Say what?" I murmured.
His eyes darkened.
"Everything."
YOU DIDN'T STOP ME.
His hand froze.
The phone, face-down on the desk.
Screen pressed against the wood.
He looked at me — dark eyes burning, waiting.
As if the next move were mine to make.
This time I didn't smile.
Not with my mouth.
But I held his gaze.
"I knew you wouldn't," I murmured.
Silence.
He didn't answer.
Just watched.
Measuring.
With an attention that scraped under my skin — like he was trying to take me apart without touching me.
I felt exposed.
It wasn't the first time someone had looked at me like that.
But it was the first time *he* had.
"How did you get in?" he asked at last.
Direct.
Like everything about him.
I leaned forward, palms flat on his desk.
"You know how. Maybe what you really want to ask is… why?"
"I've only asked what matters," he growled.
I didn't break.
Every word, every gesture — deliberate.
"Do you really want to know?"
He didn't speak.
Didn't look away.
That stare.
"Because if I tell you," I went on, "you'll have to change a lot of things."
A flicker crossed his face.
Minimal.
But I saw it.
Saw his eyes drop — just for a second —
to my chest.
My heart pounded. The wet fabric of my blouse clung to my skin, outlining the black lace beneath.
"I already changed them," he said, breaking the tension.
I exhaled slowly and tilted my head.
"Three times," I whispered.
The silence that followed wasn't surprising.
It was just… there.
Small.
But enough.
He already knew.
And his eyes darkened — not from surprise.
From confirmation.
I straightened, a chill creeping in.
He didn't move.
"Then," he said slowly, "answer the next question. You know which one."
I smiled.
"I don't have an answer for that."
The space between us shifted.
Shorter.
Dangerous.
He picked up the phone.
No rush.
Slid it into his pocket and stepped closer.
Two steps.
Close enough to feel his heat.
I was sure he'd made his decision long before I walked in.
He knew I'd come that night.
Knew I'd been there before.
Now we were even.
Because I didn't know his reasons either.
"What do you want?" he asked.
A hint of urgency in his voice.
So I didn't answer right away.
I just stepped closer.
Then closer still.
Until we were far too close.
"You," I said.
I could almost feel him breathing.
His lips barely curved.
His eyes never wavered.
"That's not an answer," he murmured.
I smiled wider.
"It's the only one you'll get."
Then he raised a hand.
Not to touch me.
Not yet.
"Don't even think about it," he said. Sharp.
The word hung between us — a warning.
Not a rejection.
And that…
I didn't know if it was worse.
"Don't play with me," he added.
I met his gaze.
Unblinking.
"I've been playing for months," I replied softly. "And you never stopped me. Even though you knew."
He closed the distance.
One step.
Enough to almost brush against me.
I didn't pull away.
I could see him clearly now —
his clenched jaw, his smooth skin, the precise line of his shave.
The subtle movement of his throat.
Betrayed by his Adam's apple.
His scent filled my lungs.
That cologne…
I would have thrown myself into his arms right then, when he spoke again.
"Maybe I didn't stop you," he said, "because I wanted to see how far you'd go."
The air thickened.
Almost unbreathable.
We both took a step back.
I loosened my collar.
He undid his tie.
Two synchronized movements — as if choreographed.
It was strange.
"Then you won't like what comes next," I said, once I had control again.
"Show me," he demanded through gritted teeth.
I only smiled.
"I will. But not tonight."