Close Enough to Burn

The day passed like a dream layered over guilt.

Jason and I went for a jog around the block, but every conversation felt like a test. I kept nodding at the right times, answering questions about school and workouts, but my mind wasn’t with him.

It was back in that bedroom.

Where candlelight had cast shadows on her bare shoulder. Where her breath had caught beneath my lips. Where time had collapsed into a single unspoken agreement: this was never supposed to happen.

And now it had.

Again.

And again.

Jason had soccer practice in the evening.

That meant I’d have the house alone, for almost three hours.

That meant her.

I showered. Changed. Paced my room like I was waiting to be arrested or crowned king.

At 6:04 p.m., I heard the front door close and Jason’s engine rev down the street.

The silence that followed was thick and electric.

I stepped into the hall. Her door was cracked open.

Just like before.

I didn’t knock.

Inside, her room was cool and dark, the blinds drawn.

She stood by the window in a long, wine-colored dress that hugged her waist and floated around her ankles. One strap had slipped down her shoulder, revealing the soft curve of her collarbone and the delicate dip at her neck.

She didn’t turn around.

“I thought you’d come sooner,” she said.

“I couldn’t. He would’ve noticed.”

Her gaze drifted over the backyard.

“There’s always risk,” she murmured. “That’s half the appeal.”

I swallowed. My fingers itched. My pulse kicked.

She turned slowly.

Her eyes moved across me like a hand. From my shoes to my throat. She took her time.

“You look nervous.”

“I am.”

She stepped forward and stopped just in front of me.

“Good.”

Then her hand slid down my chest. Slowly. Purposefully. Fingertips over fabric. Palming every contour like memory. She didn’t rush.

“Show me,” she said. “How much you remember.”

I stepped in close, hands trembling as I cupped her waist. My thumbs brushed the exposed skin of her back. Warm. Smooth. My breath caught.

Her eyes never left mine.

I leaned down. Our foreheads touched.

Then I kissed her, slow, deliberate, like I was writing something on her lips only we could read.

Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me tighter, guiding me toward the bed.

When the back of her knees touched the edge of the mattress, she sank down, bringing me with her.

Our bodies aligned like they had before, cautiously, but with a desperation just beneath the surface.

She lay back against the pillows, the satin of her dress whispering against the sheets. I traced her arm from shoulder to wrist, then brought her hand to my lips.

Her breath hitched.

Every motion was slow.

Measured.

I kissed her collarbone. Her jaw. The corner of her mouth. I waited for her permission, and when she gave it, in a sigh, in a tug of my shirt, I peeled it away.

Her hands moved with intention, exploring my chest, pausing at my ribs, before settling at my waist.

I followed her lead.

The dress slipped from her shoulder like a falling curtain.

I kissed the bare skin that emerged, inch by inch. I was reverent, like each part of her was sacred, a discovery not to be rushed.

When the dress bunched at her hips, she shifted, lifting herself to let it slide away.

She was stunning. Terrifying.

Real.

I kissed down her stomach, each breath growing heavier, more unsteady. Her fingers curled in my hair. I felt her pulse against my lips.

Our movements were slow, but not hesitant.

Intentional.

We found each other like music finds rhythm, slowly at first, then building into something raw and melodic.

She gasped as I explored her. Not loudly. Just enough for me to feel it vibrate in my chest.

And when she guided me above her, our foreheads touching again, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered my name, not sweetly, but desperately, I knew something inside me had changed forever.

Afterward, we lay tangled, chests rising and falling like twin storms.

The silence between us wasn’t empty. It was full of consequence.

“You learn fast,” she murmured, stroking my arm.

“I remember everything.”

She smiled faintly, then grew serious.

“This can’t last.”

I tensed. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll fall too deep.”

“I already have.”

She didn’t answer.

An hour later, we heard Jason’s car.

We bolted into motion, her movements fast but elegant. She slipped into her robe. I snatched my shirt and darted to the hall.

My bedroom door clicked shut just as the front door opened.

Jason called up the stairs.

“Ethan? You home?”

I opened my door, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah.”

“Cool. You missed a hell of a practice. Coach went psycho.”

I grinned, but my heart was still hammering.

From my doorway, I saw Mrs. Rowen descending the stairs a minute later, hair pinned up, expression unreadable.

“Hey, Mom,” Jason said.

“Jason.” Her voice was perfectly calm. “You smell like turf.”

“Thanks?”

She smiled. “Shower. You’re dripping sweat.”

He disappeared upstairs.

She turned to me once more, just briefly.

And in that look, I saw it all, the secrecy, the danger, the pleasure.

The addiction.

Later that night, I was lying in bed when my phone buzzed.

A text.

From Leah.

Leah (1:22 a.m.): Haven’t heard from you in a while. Still alive?

I stared at it, chest tightening.

Leah was... complicated.

We had hooked up once at college. Nothing serious. She was sharp, witty, always texting in lowercase, always pretending she didn’t care more than she did.

I hadn’t told her I’d be gone for the summer.

I typed a response.

Me: Yeah, just visiting a friend. Needed space from everything.

A moment later,

Leah: Space from me, you mean?

I didn’t reply.

The next few days blurred.

Every moment alone with her was charged. Sometimes it was a passing touch in the hallway. Other times it was a whispered conversation late at night in the kitchen. Once, she kissed me in the laundry room, pressed against the dryer, biting back a moan as the machine vibrated beneath us.

The risk only made it worse.

I was drowning.

And I didn’t want to breathe.

But everything started to shift the night Jason walked in.

Not on us. Not yet.

But close.

Too close.

It was late. I’d crept downstairs for water. The living room was dark except for the pale blue of the moonlight. She was there, barefoot, sitting on the couch with a blanket draped over her legs, sipping something from a wine glass.

I sat beside her.

She didn’t speak. Just curled her legs against me, her head on my shoulder.

We sat like that for a while, just breathing the same air.

I turned to kiss her cheek.

And that’s when the door opened.

Jason stood in the hallway, hair tousled, eyes squinting.

“Mom?”

We sprang apart.

She sat upright, straightening her blanket.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Just having a glass of wine.”

He looked at me.

“I was thirsty,” I said. “Same boat.”

Jason yawned. “You guys are weird.”

He trudged back upstairs, half-asleep.

But we didn’t move for a long time.

She clutched the blanket tighter around her, fingers shaking.

“We need to be more careful,” she whispered.

But I didn’t want careful.

I wanted her.

All of her.