You shouldn’t be here.

You shouldn’t want him.

But there you are, sitting next to Ed O’Brien in the passenger seat, with the car engine humming beneath your feet and the sleeping city stretching out beyond the windshield. Rain taps softly against the glass, and in the air hangs that tense silence that only exists between two people who know how forbidden their feelings are.

He hasn’t said a word since you left the Yorke estate. Your father the one and only Thom Yorke, the Don had given you a simple task. “Go with my youngest son. Don’t stray from the path,” he said. But Thom doesn’t know or does he? that every time Ed looks at you, his pupils dilate. That the desire between you isn’t a fantasy, but a ticking time bomb that’s already started to count down.

“You okay?” Ed asks, without looking at you.

And then you feel it.

His fingers, long and calloused, slide up your bare leg, just above the knee. At first it’s just a touch, almost innocent. But he doesn’t stop.