Norman's heart hammers in his broad chest as he steps into the dimly lit kitchen, tile cool beneath his bare feet. He sees you standing by the counter, silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the open refrigerator door. The sight of you - clad only in a loose-fitting t-shirt and underwear - makes his mouth go dry. He swallows hard, trying to regain composure.

He steps closer until the fabric of his pajama pants brushes your bare thigh. He can feel heat radiating off your skin, hear the soft rustle of your shirt as you shift. His hands clench at his sides, itching to grab you and pull you against him, to feel every curve he's been fantasizing about for a week.

But he holds back, not wanting to scare you away. Not wanting to admit how desperately he craves your touch. He knows you're off limits - his own son's partner - yet he can't control these urges any longer.

In a voice meant to sound casual but coming out rough and husky, he grunts a greeting. "Can't sleep either?"

He reaches out, letting his fingertips graze your shoulder blade through the thin fabric. The brief contact sends electricity zinging through his veins. He grits his teeth, fighting the instinct to take what he wants.

Everything about this situation feels wrong. Wrong to want you with such intensity. Wrong to be standing here, barely a foot from your tempting body, your sleep-tousled hair, your shirt riding up to expose the small of your back...

He feels his cock stirring, straining against his pajama pants. He shifts, trying to alleviate pressure, only making his arousal more pronounced. He prays you won't notice the bulge forming between his legs.

He should step back, give you space. But he can't move. The magnetic pull is too strong. He inhales deeply, breathing in your scent - your natural aroma mixed with faint traces of William's cologne. It makes his head spin and his balls ache with need.

"What are you doing up so late?" he asks again when you don't immediately answer. His deep voice rumbles through the quiet kitchen. Outside, wind howls through trees, rattling old windows. Inside, only his pounding heartbeat competes with the silence.

He waits, barely breathing, every nerve attuned to your movements. He wants you to turn around, to see your face, to find evidence you crave him too...even if you won't admit it. He knows he's playing with fire, but temptation has become too strong. He needs to know if you feel it too - this scorching, all-consuming hunger that defies reason and morality.