No hesitation

Corleone's pov

I stepped into the rain. It was of my will. No one forced me to.

"Are you coming or not?" Martil held out the black helmet, water dripping from his hair.

I should have said no. I shouldn't have answered him. But my outstretched hands wanted me to see how far I could push my luck tonight.

I climbed on the back of his bike. I didn't say a word. He didn’t say anything either.

Rain slapped my skin in sharp taps as my fingers hesitated before they curled around his waist.

His long legs press lifted off the ground, revving the engine to life. The sound was low and guttural – like it warned me of the option I just chose.

It wouldn't hurt. Mom's driver couldn't make it. No one else could take me home. I would be forgotten in school because the rain definitely wouldn't stop too soon.

We took off, cutting through the rain drops like scissors through cotton. The ride was fast and smooth but every turn made me more aware of the strength in front of me.

My eyes bored holes into his back. My arms were wrapped tight around his waist. Every bump in the road pushed me closer to that hardness – the real quiet and practiced control.

The cold wind was evident on my skin but the real goosebumps came from the shift in his body....the lean into his curves. My mind thudded loudly in my ears as I tried to take my mind off feeling him.

I felt him. His back was rigid under my fingers. His leather was soaked, stretching over every solid muscle. How much exercise did he involve himself in to get this big?

My mind collapsed again in warning. I shouldn't be this close. I shouldn’t feel this alive.

After what felt like two extra years, the bike slowed before pulling into a small and shadowed driveway in a quieter part of town I couldn't recognize.

A tall iron gate slid open, revealing a sleek two-story building with blacked-out windows and cold steels.

Martil kicked the stand down, parked and stepped off. He didn’t say a word. He led the way in while I followed, looking like a drenched rat. My heart thumped – not from fear but from adrenaline that pushed against my throat.

The apartment was clean, dark and expensive. It didn't look like someone lived in at all.

No flowers. No welcome mat. Just coldness. Just like him.

Martil didn't wait for me. No single gentleman trait.

He opened the side door and walked in. I trailed after him, my body dripping water all over his shiny black floors.

Inside, it smelt like smoke. The lights were dim. Walls were painted grey and black furniture. No family pictures. It looked like the space just existed.

"You have a whole apartment to yourself?" I asked, breaking the quiet silence as I peeled my wet bag from my shoulder.

"This is where I think," He answered.

Of course. Because feeling wasn't his thing.

"Shower’s that way." He glanced over his shoulder, titling his chin towards a dark narrow hall.

I looked like a soaked princess locked in a tower.

"You are kicking me in there without a towel or clothes?" My voice raised a little in surprise. Why does he act like this?

"The towel is in the cabinet. I will get you a shirt." His voice was flat, but something ticked tight in his jaw.

He stared at me, then turned and disappeared down another hall.

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to follow. I didn't.

Not up to a minute, he came back and dropped something soft into my hands – a shirt. A white shirt. His shirt. Short, oversized and still warm from wherever he pulled it from.

"Thanks." I murmured.

The bathroom was like the rest of the house. It has clean black tiles and minimal lighting. I stripped out of my wet clothes and let the hot water wash over me.

As I closed my eyes under the hot shower, my mind trailed back to my hands on Martil's hard back. God, I wanted to feel those again.

I stepped out and slipped the shirt on. It hung low on my thighs and clung slightly to my body from the leftover steam. No panties on. I hoped it wouldn't end up disastrous.

I walked barefoot down the hall and found Martil at the kitchen counter. Shirtless. Sipping water like it was the most ordinary night in his world.

My eyes caught his shoulder tattoos under the lights. The same black inks. Will there be a day when I will see the full drawings?

His body was lean and sculpted. Tension lived in his shoulders that I could feel from here.

He picked a cigarette from the counter, placed it between his long slender fingers and lit it effortlessly. I watched him, my hands itching to trail his back again.

Then, he turned and paused. His eyes scanned me slowly, like he had every right to.

"You look better," He said, voice rougher than usual.

I chuckled, rubbing my neck. "I look like a chubby princess." I rolled my eyes, hating the way it barely covered up my thighs even though it was oversized in the width.

He stood and walked towards me. Steps were light, calm and measured. I stood, my legs deep rooted in place. Until there was just a few inches left between us.

I blinked, feeling the heat radiating from his cold skin. His jaws clenched. His gaze burned my boldness.

"Why did you bring me here?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His hands shot up slowly, grazing the shirt near my hip. Just a brush but enough to send my entire body wanting his touch.

"To get you out of the rain." He said,

His gaze lingered – dragging over me like an overreacting switch. I took a step closer. And another. The silence thickened in between us.

"Martil...."

He froze. "What are you doing?" His voice dropped a note lower.

I swallowed. "Nothing." I lied.

His lips twitched like he was intrigued by my shamelessness but I wasn't thinking straight.

He leaned in, making the air in between us vanish in an instant. His lips hovered right beside mine. Not touching. Just torturing.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart racing wildly. Touch me. He should touch me.

I didn't hesitate this time. I pressed my palm against his chest – touching gently. His breath caught. He didn't stop me.

"You are not my HOD now." I was so close to him. "You are just....you." I whispered.

He didn't blink. He didn't move. That was all the permission I needed.

I rose up on my heel and kissed him. A very light one. A mere brush of lips. He didn't pull away. My fingers slipped up his neck, and I leaned deeper – bolder.

Then, he grabbed my wrists. A firm grip, not too hard but enough to stop everything.

His eyes suddenly darkened. His breath was shallow. He didn't kiss back nor did he let go.

"You are playing a very dangerous game, Corley."