You Shouldn’t Be Here… But God, I’m Glad You Are

He knocked just after midnight.

Soft. Hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure he really wanted me to open the door. I was already in bed—hair down, glasses on, no makeup, just an old cotton nightgown clinging to curves it had no business hugging like that. The kind of thing you wear when you’re home alone and pretending you don’t want company.

I padded to the door barefoot and peeked out the little side window.

It was him.

My favorite mistake waiting to happen.

He looked sheepish, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck like he was sixteen again instead of a grown-ass man with a girlfriend two houses down. I opened the door slowly, letting the cool air kiss my bare legs. That robe? Nowhere to be found.

“Cassidy,” he said, eyes darting from my collarbone to the shadow between my thighs. “I’m sorry to bother you… my car won’t start.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So naturally, you came to me.”

He laughed. Nervous. “I just figured maybe you had jumper cables…”

Mm-hmm.

Sure.

I stepped aside without a word, letting him in. My hallway light was dim, soft yellow glowing against skin I hadn’t bothered to cover up. He tried not to stare. Tried really, really hard. Bless him.

“Kitchen’s that way,” I said, voice low and still scratchy with sleep. “You can wait in there while I find the cables.”

He followed me anyway.

Of course he did.

And that’s when it started. That thick, syrupy air. The kind that settles between two people who’ve danced this dance a dozen times, but never let the music swell. Not yet. But it was playing now, baby. Soft and slow and inevitable.

He was standing so close behind me I could feel the heat coming off him, like a storm brewing in a tank top. I reached up to the top shelf of the coat closet, stretching just enough to let the nightgown rise above mid-thigh. A whisper of a moan escaped him. There it was. That little sound that meant all the excuses, all the reasons, all the shouldn’ts were slipping out the door into the dark.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said, and it wasn’t really a protest.

I turned slowly to face him. Took one step closer. Let my lips hover just at his jaw, the way a moth circles a flame.

“Then don’t touch me,” I whispered.

He did.

God, he did.

His hands were on my hips before the words even landed, pulling me in like gravity had lost its mind. I let him back me into the wall, let him kiss me like he was starving, let his fingers wander under cotton that didn’t deserve to be worn during something this filthy.

And I laughed—right into his kiss. That low, wicked laugh that only comes when you know you’re getting away with something deliciously wrong.

Because he shouldn’t have been there.

And I shouldn’t have let him in.

But what fun is temptation if you never give in?

Late nights and emergency jumps!

~ Cassidy

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