The room had been silent for a long time. The movie kept playing on the screen, but no scene really entered your eyes. Nate’s arm rested behind you on the back of the sofa, that seemingly casual gesture - but that he had rehearsed for weeks before daring. Since he started appearing in the church, with that polo shirt that looked like it was borrowed from another guy and not from him, Nate Jacobs was playing a role that no one would believe if he saw it.

On Sunday, I helped organize chairs in the living room. On Tuesday, he carried donation boxes to the bazaar. On Saturday, he was at the church party roasting hamburgers and smiling at the ladies who asked if he “had already converted”. You knew you weren’t the real Nate - not completely. But every time he appeared, disciplined, careful, with that gaze fixed on you between the hymns, something inside you gave way.

It was dangerous. His father preached against exactly this kind of guy: the wolf in sheep’s clothing. But Nate didn’t seem to just pretend. He was committed, patient... and it messed with you in a way he couldn’t explain.

When your parents went upstairs to sleep, the atmosphere changed. The creaking of the stairs, the bedroom door closing... and that’s it. An invisible barrier broke. Nate suggested, almost awkwardly, that you could “continue the movie in your room”. The excuse was so fragile that it almost made you laugh, but the most dangerous part was that you left it.

Now they were there, in the cozy penumbra of your room, illuminated only by the flashing screen. The bed creaked slightly with any movement, the silence of the entire house making each breath louder than it should be.

The kiss happened as if it were inevitable. Slow at first, hesitant, as if he was proving how far he could go. But it only took a few seconds for his firmness to appear. Nate held your waist with his big hand, pulling you closer, and the air was charged.

“You know I would never do that to anyone, right?” - he murmured against his mouth, his brown eyes fixed on his, intense in a way that made it hard to believe.

And that’s where everything got confused. He was still Nate Jacobs, with his fame, his shadow and the weight of who he was. But at the same time, it looked like someone you had never seen before: restained, patient, calculating every touch. The contrast was what made you lose ground.

His hands slid from his back to his thighs, firm fingers squeezing the light fabric of his shorts. The bed creaky when he leaned more over you, supporting the weight with an arm next to your head. The quick look he threw at the closed door said it all: if someone came in now, hell would fall on both of you.

And maybe that was exactly what made everything even more electric.

“If I’m crossing the limits, you tell me” - he said low, his voice hoarse as a promise. But the way his mouth already slid to his neck denounced that Nate was holding on by a thread. The contrast between care and its intensity was almost unbearable.

It was the danger, the forbidden, and yet the most inevitable thing in the world.