Chapter 3: Daylight and Distance

The world had shrunk to the size of the Persian rug, its intricate patterns a chaotic landscape beneath May’s back. The only light was the warm gold from the single lamp; the only sound, the roaring storm and the ragged rhythm of their breathing. Leo’s touch was a brand, his fingers moving with an agonizing slowness that belied the fierce hunger in his eyes. Every gentle circle, every deliberate press, sent shards of pure, unadulterated pleasure through her.

The lingering sweetness of chocolate on her tongue was a ghost of the sin that had started this. This was no longer a game. This was an inferno.

A lifetime of composure, of being the measured, predictable May Albright, was being systematically dismantled. Her body, so long dormant, was a live wire. A soft, desperate sound escaped her lips.

“Leo… wait. Slow down.”

The words were a lie, a last, futile attempt by the sensible part of her brain to seize control. She didn't want him to slow down. She wanted him to devour her. But the plea came out anyway, thin and breathless, a relic of a caution she no longer possessed.

He paused, his hand stilling its devastating exploration. He lifted his head, his face inches from hers. The dim light carved shadows under his cheekbones, making him look older, more dangerous. The boyish charm was gone, replaced by a raw, masculine focus that pinned her to the floor. The small scar on his eyebrow seemed to stand out, a tiny imperfection in the face of the man who was currently perfecting her ruin.

“Slow down?” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He read the truth in her eyes, the lie on her lips. A slow, wicked smile spread across his face, the kind of smile that promised he would do exactly as she asked, but in a way that would drive her utterly insane. “Okay, May. Slow.”

He leaned down and kissed her again, a deep, languid kiss that tasted of wine and want. As his mouth claimed hers, his hand began to move again, but this time it was different. Slower. Infinitely more torturous. He traced the seam of her panties, his thumb pressing lightly against the fabric, against the frantic pulse point he had discovered there. He didn’t rush, didn’t push inside. He simply circled, teased, and tormented, drawing out the tension until May felt like a violin string pulled to its breaking point.

Her soft pleas to go slow twisted into something else entirely. They became desperate, throaty moans, muffled against his mouth. Her hips began to move of their own accord, a mindless, seeking rhythm against his hand. She was chasing the pleasure he was so expertly withholding. The melting point was coming. She was dissolving, coming undone on her living room floor for a man—a boy—who was half her age and her tenant. The absurdity of it was drowned out by the sheer, overwhelming force of her need.

She broke the kiss, gasping for air. “Please,” she begged, though what she was begging for, she didn't know. More. Faster. Now.

Her control snapped.

With a surge of strength she didn’t know she had, she hooked her hands into the belt loops of his jeans and pulled. He came down on top of her with a soft grunt, his weight a welcome, crushing pressure. The hard length of him pressed against her thigh through the denim, a stark, electrifying promise of what was to come. She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking him to her, an unspoken, undeniable invitation. Surrender was no longer enough; she wanted to be consumed.

He fumbled with the button of his jeans, his eyes never leaving hers. They were dark green pools of pure, concentrated lust. The world outside ceased to exist. There was no storm, no rain, no quiet suburban street. There was only the heat of his body, the rasp of denim against her skin, and the precipice they were teetering on. He was the chaos she had craved, and she was ready to leap into the eye of the storm.

He was poised above her, the final barrier of clothing about to give way. The moment stretched, thick with anticipation.

CRACK-BOOM!

A deafening clap of thunder exploded directly overhead, so loud and violent it felt as if the sky had split in two. The house shuddered, the windows rattling in their frames as if struck by a giant fist. They both flinched, a single, shared jolt of shock.

And in the ringing silence that followed the thunder, another sound sliced through the air.

It was fainter, but unmistakable. The crunch of tires on the wet gravel of her driveway.

The spell shattered.

It was as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over them. The lust evaporated in an instant, replaced by a cold, sickening dread. Suddenly, the rug was scratchy, the air was cold on her exposed skin, and the man on top of her was no longer a beautiful instrument of pleasure but a terrifying complication.

Leo froze, his head snapping toward the front window. His body was still pressed against hers, but the energy between them had changed from passionate heat to pure, adrenalized panic.

A pair of headlights swept across the living room, slashing through the dim light, throwing their entangled silhouettes into stark, damning relief against the far wall for a horrifying second before disappearing.

A car door slammed shut.

May’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. Reality came crashing back with brutal force. She was half-naked on her living room floor with her twenty-one-year-old tenant, and someone was walking up to her front door.

“Get off!” she hissed, the words raw with terror. She pushed at his chest, her hands clumsy, her mind racing. Who was it? A friend dropping by? A neighbor? Her ex-husband, Richard, with his uncanny ability to appear at the worst possible moments?

Leo scrambled off her, his face a mask of confusion and thwarted desire. He looked at her, then at the door, his own panic beginning to dawn.

They were trapped. The cozy, intimate cocoon the storm had created had just become a cage. The forbidden act was no longer a secret shared between two people, but a bomb waiting to detonate in the sudden, silent house.