8. Fire Between the Sheets

The following weeks went by faster than I expected. I tried to cling to normality, to my routine, to the illusion that I still had control—but John was slipping deeper and deeper into my life, and there was nothing I could do about it. Or maybe, I just didn’t want to.

It wasn’t just the way he was attentive. It wasn’t just the little gestures—always perfectly timed, as if he could read my mind. It was the way he made me forget the walls I had built over the years, forget all my insecurities like they were nothing but fading echoes.

Every time we were together, there was a perfect blend of laughter, unspoken tension, and long, honest conversations. Like he was slowly seeping into every crack of my world. And I wasn’t stopping him.

One night, after we’d spent the afternoon at his office—him focused on running his empire, me half-heartedly trying to write—he invited me to stay over at his place.

His apartment, of course, was everything I imagined: modern, spacious, with a breathtaking panoramic view of the city. But it wasn’t just that. There was something else. Something I didn’t expect.

“I didn’t think it would feel so... cozy,” I said, looking around. The walls were lined with books, framed photographs, and art. Nothing screamed *millionaire*. It was personal. Warm. Strangely intimate.

“What did you expect? A golden throne and a fountain in the living room?” he joked, pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto the couch.

“I don’t know\... something colder, I guess. But this is... surprisingly normal.”

John chuckled, stepping closer. Way too close. The air shifted. That thick, charged tension that always followed us began to simmer again.

“Maybe you'd be surprised how normal I really am,” he said, voice low, his eyes locked on mine.

“I doubt you’ll ever be truly normal,” I replied, my heart starting to race. “There’s always something about you that... stands out.”

“And is that a bad thing?” His fingers grazed my cheek, featherlight. My entire body tightened in response.

“I never said it was bad,” I whispered, unable to look away.

Electricity sparked between us. It had always been there, but now—here, in this quiet, intimate space—it felt like something was about to crack. Or maybe I was.

John tilted his head and stepped in. His breath brushed against my skin, and his hand slid slowly to my waist, pulling me gently toward him. I felt the heat of his body against mine, and the intensity in his gaze as it dropped to my lips.

“Cat…” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

My heart thundered. My skin burned. I knew that if I didn’t walk away now—if I didn’t put up a wall—everything would change. But the truth was, I didn’t want to walk away. Not anymore. Not now.

So I leaned in and kissed him.

It was like igniting a match inside a powder keg.

His mouth moved against mine with a hunger that was both urgent and tender, like we had both been starving for this, for weeks. My hands slid up his back, feeling the tension in his muscles through his shirt, while his arms wrapped around me tighter, like he never wanted to let me go.

We broke the kiss only for air, breathing hard, eyes wild. And when I looked at him—truly looked—I saw something in his gaze that stole the breath from my lungs.

“This isn’t a game for me, Cat,” he said softly, brushing his fingers along my jaw. “It never was.”

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look away. It wasn’t just physical—it had never been just physical.

I had spent so long resisting, terrified of what he meant, of what falling for him might do to me. But now, with him this close, the fear melted.

“I know,” I whispered, my fingers tangled in his shirt. “And I don’t want to resist anymore.”

He smiled. That soft, disarming smile that always undid me. And kissed me again.

But this time, it was slower. Deeper.

This time, it wasn’t about lust.

It was something else.

We let ourselves fall, without thinking, without worrying about what might come next. In that moment, it was just him and me.

And for the first time, I let myself feel everything. Without fear. Without holding back.

That night, when we finally collapsed into his bed, the city glowing behind the windows, he wrapped his arms around me and held me like I was something precious.

“Do you regret giving me a chance?” he asked, his lips brushing against my forehead.

“No.” I smiled into the darkness, curling closer to him. “I think I finally did something right.”

And as I drifted off in his arms, I knew there would still be complications. Differences. Fights. Fears. But at least for this night... everything felt right.