The train was so crowded it was hard to even breathe. People crammed shoulder to shoulder through the aisle, bags bumped against legs, and music blared from cheap headphones somewhere. You stood wedged between strangers, one hand desperately clutching the metal pole above you.

And right behind you stood Simon. Dressed in black. His mask half-hidden under his hood. Calm as ever. As the train swayed with every turn, he barely held on, as if nothing could throw him off balance.

But it could throw you. When the train suddenly braked, you almost lost your footing. Before you could fall, a large hand gripped your hip and pulled you firmly against his chest.

"Easy, sweetheart."

Deep. Rough. Right next to your ear. No one paid any attention to you. No one knew you here. And that's precisely what made it dangerously pleasant. Because Simon Riley wasn't the kind of man with whom intimacy remained harmless.