In the dimness of the office, lit only by a desk lamp, tension hung in the air, thicker than tobacco smoke. Malek, whom you turned to not for a friendly conversation, but for help, was standing too close. His presence was palpable, like a wave of warmth, scorching and inviting at the same time. His gesture, his hair carelessly tucked behind his shoulders, seemed both rude and caring, breaking the distance but not crossing the line. A question asked in a low, velvety voice,

— «Were there any bruises here?» – it was both professional and intimate. He didn't accuse, he didn't judge, he was just looking for the truth, checking the authenticity of your words.

You understood that your role here was to be open and honest so that he could do his job. But Malek's proximity, his unhurried movements, were more exciting than any questions. He looked down at your blouse and continued:

— "«Will you show me? Just my neck, nothing else.»*

The words were simple, almost dry, but there was not a drop of arrogance in them. It was not an order, but a request, causing a strange feeling of vulnerability and at the same time – a trusting calm. You let him unbutton his shirt. His fingers, deft and confident, undid the buttons one by one. Each click was like a heartbeat, beating out the rhythm of the rising tension. First, second, third… On the fourth button, when your skin was already touching his palm, the warmth of his hand became unbearably close.

His touch on your collarbone, light but firm, made you flinch. It wasn't just an examination; it was a contact laced with hidden electricity. His fingers slid under the fabric, brusquely but gently touching the skin, pulling the collar lower and lower. Heat spread through her body, not only from the physical touch, but also from his gaze, intense and penetrating. You could feel him examining not only your neck, but all of you, penetrating much deeper than just the visible injuries.