Rain’s POV
The rain was soft but steady as I walked up to the front door, the familiar rhythm of it echoing the one in my chest. Coming here always felt like slipping into something old and warm — but this time, something inside me was different. Or maybe it had always been there, and I’d just started noticing.
Danny opened the door, leaning one shoulder against the frame, his silhouette lit from behind like something out of a dream. Loose hoodie. Gym shorts. Barefoot. No one had the right to look that good at 45 — not with those arms, that jawline, that easy, dangerous smile.
“Hey, Rain,” he said, low and smooth, like my name was a secret.
“Hey,” I murmured, shaking water from my jacket as I stepped in.
He didn’t touch me — never did. But the space between us always felt charged, like something was crackling there, hidden from the rest of the world.
He watched me in that quiet way he always did — guarded, unreadable, but hungry if you looked long enough. I had. A million times.
“You grow more into yourself every time I see you,” he said softly, locking the door behind me.
That was his way — always indirect. Always safe.
“Must be the gym,” I said, smiling, pretending not to see how his eyes trailed the curve of my arms, the line of my jaw.
“You been working out?” he asked, voice a touch deeper now.
“Trying to catch up to you.” I let the words hang. “Still a beast, huh?”
He laughed, soft. “Old man strength. It sticks around longer than you think.”
I looked at him. Really looked. He didn’t look 45 — not even close. His body was sculpted, clean, all hard muscle and heat. I could still remember the first time I’d noticed it — years ago, him coming home from the gym, shirt clinging to his chest, sweat shining along his collarbone. I was too young then to name what I felt, but I knew it mattered.
Now I could name everything. I just couldn’t say it.
He walked past me, heading toward the kitchen. “Your room’s ready,” he said over his shoulder. “Same as always.”
Same as always. But not the same at all.
We ate ribs at the kitchen island. He poured me a glass of wine, just one, and we talked about nothing — school, traffic, the weather. But the silence between sentences said more.
He didn’t look at me the way dads should look at their son’s best friend. And I didn’t look at him like he was just my best friend’s dad.
He never mentioned women. Never had them around. He was private, quiet, always composed. But something in his eyes said he was watching. Guarding something inside him. And when he laughed, really laughed, it felt like I could almost reach it.
Later, I sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling my phone, but I could feel him down the hall — feel his presence like heat through a wall.
And I couldn’t help thinking:
Would he come to my door?
Would he knock?
Would he ever let himself want me out loud?
Because God, I already did..
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The house was asleep.
The rain had faded to a hush, replaced by the sound of distant thunder and the low hum of the fridge. I padded softly through the hallway, T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, loose shorts brushing my thighs. I told myself I was just going for water.
But I knew exactly what I was hoping for.
The kitchen light was already on. My breath caught.
Danny stood at the sink, shirtless, his back to me. The muscles in his shoulders shifted as he rinsed a glass, the curve of his bicep flexing just enough to make my stomach tighten. Loose black sweatpants. No sound except water, soft and steady.
He turned slightly. “Can’t sleep?”
“Not really,” I said, voice low. “Too quiet.”
He dried the glass. Didn’t look at me at first. “Yeah… it’s that kind of night.”
My eyes trailed over his body — the cuts of his abs, the V of his waist, the way his chest moved when he breathed. He looked like something you weren’t supposed to touch. Something holy.
He finally turned, resting his hip against the counter. “You always this restless?”
“Only here,” I said, and regretted it instantly — or maybe I didn’t.
He watched me. Silence stretched.
His voice dropped, just above a whisper. “You know this isn’t right.”
I stepped closer. “Then why does it feel like the only thing that is?”
Danny’s jaw clenched. He looked like he was fighting himself, hands braced on the counter behind him like it was the only thing holding him in place. His eyes — God, those eyes — flicked over me with barely restrained hunger. Years of it.
“You’re my son’s best friend,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
“And you’ve been looking at me like that since I was seventeen,” I whispered back.
His breath caught.
“You think I didn’t notice?” I stepped into his space, close enough to feel the heat off his skin. “You think I didn’t feel it?”
He didn’t move. Couldn’t. The air between us pulsed.
“Rain…” he breathed. A warning. A plea.
But I didn’t stop.
I reached up, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. He didn’t pull away. His eyes were glassy with restraint, mouth slightly parted like he was ready to fall if I pushed.
Footsteps creaked upstairs — a door closing. We both froze. My heart pounded.
Then, slowly, he leaned in — not to kiss me. Just to rest his forehead against mine, breath hot and shaky against my lips.
“This is so wrong,” he murmured.
“But you want me,” I whispered.
His hands found my waist, gripping tight. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
We didn’t kiss.
We didn’t move.
But standing there, hidden in the soft yellow kitchen light, everything changed. We didn’t need touch to feel how close we were to losing control. To giving in.
The house was full of people.
And that only made it worse.
11 July for next chapter 😍😍😍
