THE ONE WHO SHOULDN'T BE TOUCHED

My mind was still scrambled from last night Slate’s mouth, Slate’s weight over me, Slate’s quiet voice in the dark telling me to stop looking at him like that while he looked at me the same way.

I’d barely slept. I’d barely breathed. My body felt like it was still echoing with Slate’s heat even though I woke up alone.

I shouldn’t want anyone else.

But then Aurelio opened a door, stepped inside, and turned his head just enough to look over his shoulder at me.

And every thought I had collapsed.

I felt surrounded the moment I entered. The room was dim, lit only by a tall floor lamp that threw gold across Aurelio’s tattoos. He stood still, watching me with a hunger he didn’t bother to hide. His eyes tracked me like he was memorizing every inch of skin showing beneath my shirt.

My heartbeat was ridiculous—too loud, too fast.

“Why… why did you bring me here?” I asked.

Aurelio didn’t answer.

He just stepped closer.

God—he smelled like smoke, cedar, and something darker. Something intoxicating. Something wrong.

His fingers lifted, brushing a curl behind my ear.

“You look better without all your defenses,” he murmured.

Heat shot down my spine so hard I had to steady myself.

I hated how easily he could do that.

I hated how much I wanted him to keep doing it.

His eyes dragged slowly down my chest, and then he said it quietly, commanding, dangerous:

“Take off your top, cariño.”

My breath caught. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

My whole body reacted before my mind could stop it. I had never met anyone with a voice that seductive, so controlled. Zayden had dominance, Slate had quiet authority but Aurelio?

He felt like temptation wrapped in danger.

Still, I hesitated. “You’re acting like—like I belong to you.”

A slow smirk curved his mouth.

“I don’t claim what isn’t mine,” he said softly. “But I evaluate it.”

My cheeks burned. Evaluate?

Was I an object?

Why did that turn me on?

I lifted my shirt slowly, watching his expression shift from interest, heat, and restraint. The closer I got to revealing skin, the stiller he became, like he was holding himself back with something stronger than chains.

When my shirt hit the floor, Aurelio stepped closer again, close enough that his breath warmed my cheek.

My knees almost gave out.

His hand hovered—hovered—over my ribs.

Never touching.

Just close enough that my skin tingled.

“You’re shaking,” he muttered, amusement in his voice. “Cute.”

“Are you… going to do something?” My voice was embarrassingly soft. “Or just stare?”

His jaw flexed. For the first time, he looked impatient—hungry.

I swallowed. “If you’re trying to seduce me, you’re doing a terrible job. Slate actually—”

His eyes sharpened instantly.

“Slate touched you,” he said flatly.

“I—He—It’s complicated.”

“No,” Aurelio said, stepping even closer. “Slate is complicated. You… are very simple to read.”

My face flushed. “Then what am I thinking?”

“That you want me to touch you.”

He leaned down, his lips almost brushing my jaw.

“And that terrifies you more than it should.”

My breathing stuttered.

“Then why aren’t you?” I whispered.

He pulled back, looking at me like I was something rare, delicate, breakable.

“Because I’m not allowed.”

That… was not the answer I expected.

“Not allowed? By who?”

“By Zayden,” he said, as if it were obvious.

I froze.

Aurelio turned away from me, running a hand slowly through his thick dark hair before lowering himself into the chair opposite me.

He looked like a storm waiting to happen.

“Sit,” he said.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

I sat.

He watched me in silence for a long moment, then said:

“You’re asking the wrong questions.”

“What are the right ones?”

“Ask me why I work here.”

“Fine,” I said. “Why do you? Someone like you doesn’t look like he takes orders.”

He chuckled—low, dangerous.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“Then why stay?”

Aurelio leaned back, eyes drifting toward the ceiling.

“I wasn’t always here,” he said softly. “I worked for an organization. One that operates… in the spaces between governments. Assassinations. Interventions. Recoveries. The kind of things whispered in bars and denied on record.”

Cold washed through me.

“You’re joking.”

His eyes snapped to mine.

“Do I look like I joke?”

No.

He looked like he had killed jokes where they stood.

“But then…” I swallowed. “How did you end up with Zayden?”

His entire posture shifted.

The air changed.

His face shuttered like I had crossed an invisible line.

“That,” he said sharply, “is a topic you do not want to touch.”

“Well, I do,” I pushed. “Why is everyone acting like he’s—”

“A god?” Aurelio muttered. “A monster? A myth?”

“Yes.”

Aurelio stared at me for a long, long moment, and when he finally spoke, it was with quiet finality:

“Zayden Blackwell is dangerous, Aaron. Not sexy-dangerous. Not rich-dangerous. Not mysterious-dangerous.”

His eyes pinned me.

“He is the kind of dangerous you don’t survive if you piss him off.”

My stomach dropped.

“Then why does he want me here?” I whispered.

Aurelio stood.

Not suddenly—not violently—just slowly.

Deliberately.

“Ask him.”

He walked to the bathroom door and paused.

Before stepping inside, he looked back at me.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he said quietly.

And then, almost too soft to hear:

“And I sure as hell shouldn’t want you.”

The bathroom door clicked shut.

And I was alone.

Aurelio disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the room. I stood there, chest still tight, skin buzzing from everything he’d said, everything he refused to say.

Slate wanted me.

Aurelio wanted me but wouldn’t touch me.

And Zayden—

Zayden wanted me before he even met me.

My head should’ve hurt.

It didn’t.

My body was too keyed up, trembling from the weight of all the attention, all the danger, all the desire pressed into the walls of that mansion.

I stared at the half-open bathroom door, warm steam rolling from the opening. His silhouette moved inside—broad shoulders, narrow waist, wet hair falling over inked skin. He looked like sin carved from stone.

Something inside me snapped.

I crossed the room, each step slow, deliberate, like my feet already knew the choice I’d made.

I pushed the bathroom door open.

Aurelio froze.

He stood shirtless, towel slung low on his hips, water dripping down the cut lines of his abdomen. The mirror behind him was fogged, but I could see his eyes in the glass—dark, startled, hungry in a way he didn’t want to admit.

“Aaron,” he said, voice rough. “Get out.”

“No.”

His body tensed. “Don’t do this. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

I stepped forward, heart beating against my ribs like it wanted out. “I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

“Aaron—”

“I want you,” I breathed. “And fuck Zayden’s rules.”

Aurelio’s jaw clenched hard, like the words physically hit him. He turned his back fast, running a hand through his wet hair as though steadying himself.

“Dios…” he muttered under his breath. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

I moved closer—close enough to feel the heat rolling off him, close enough to breathe him in.

He didn’t stop me.

Not even when I lifted a hand and pressed my palm slowly against his back.

His muscles jumped violently under my touch.

“Aurelio…” I whispered, leaning in until my lips were a breath from his ear.

“I’m waiting.”

His inhale was sharp—almost a hiss—like he was in pain.

Or restraint.

He stayed frozen, water dripping down his spine, towel slipping dangerously low. One of his hands gripped the edge of the sink so tightly I thought it might crack.

“Don’t,” he said, but it came out softer this time. Not a command. A plea.

“You don’t want me?” I pressed, voice barely a murmur. “Really?”

He let out a broken laugh—quiet, humorless, trembling.

“You think I don’t?” he rasped. “You have no idea what it means when someone like me wants something.”

“Show me.”

“No,” he said, but this time his voice shook. “You’re not mine to touch.”

“Zayden doesn’t own me.”

“He thinks he does,” Aurelio shot back.

He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to see the conflict tearing through his eyes. Desire. Restraint. Fear. Hunger.

“I’m not allowed to leave marks on something he’s already claimed,” he whispered.

My pulse hammered.

“So don’t mark me,” I whispered back. “Just… want me.”

His eyes squeezed shut as the words hurt him.

“Aaron,” he breathed, “you are temptation wearing skin.”

I dragged my hand slowly down his back, feeling the way his breath stuttered, how close he was to breaking.

“How is that my fault?”

He let out a sound—low and soft, like a man losing control.

I leaned in closer.

“I’m waiting,” I repeated, softer this time, more dangerous.