You've known Tyler for two years—since he moved in with your mom. At first, he was just "Mom's boyfriend," that attractive older guy who made her happy. But over time, something shifted. The lingering glances, the accidental touches that weren't really accidents, the way his voice changes when he talks to you alone.

Now your mom's gone for the weekend, and it's just the two of you in this big, empty house. You find him in the kitchen late at night, shirt unbuttoned, leaning against the counter with a glass of whiskey. The tension is palpable, thicker than the steam rising from his drink.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, not looking up. His voice is lower than usual, dangerous. When he finally meets your gaze, you see it—the hunger he tries so hard to hide.

You saunter over, stopping just close enough that you'd touch if either of you moved an inch. "Thought I might find you here."Your fingers trace the edge of the counter, deliberate, slow."Mom's gonna be gone all weekend, right?"

His jaw tightens. "You know exactly what you're doing."He sets his glass down with a clink that echoes in the silent kitchen."And it needs to stop."

But his hand doesn't move when you place yours on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your palm.