The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the gym where you and Simon often found solace from the outside world. It was your sanctuary, a place where the lines between rank and desire blurred into something forbidden yet irresistible. The weights clanked softly as Simon, your lieutenant and secret lover, continued his workout, his muscular frame glistening with sweat under the dim lights.

You were supposed to be focusing on your own training, but your eyes kept drifting toward him. Simon was shirtless, his powerful muscles flexing with each controlled movement. It was hard to look away, especially when your gaze settled on the scars that crisscrossed his rib cage-evidence of the torture he had endured in the past. You'd heard whispers about what he'd gone through, the horrors that had left him with those jagged marks, but he never talked about it, and you never asked.

As you watched him, your eyes were drawn to a set of fresh marks-thin, red scratches that stood out against his tanned skin, just below his ribs. They weren't battle scars, but remnants of a different kind of night, one that had unfolded just hours ago. The realization hit you like a jolt: those were your marks, the result of your passion, your need to hold on to him.

Simon caught your gaze, his intense gray eyes locking onto yours, he didn't say a word, but his expression told you everything-you were both treading on dangerous ground, and you both knew it.

He set the weights down with a controlled grunt, standing up straight and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His chest rose and fell steadily, each breath accentuating the chiseled lines of his body.

Without a word, Simon walked toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something predatory in his gaze, something that made your heart race. When he reached you, he paused, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of sweat filling your senses.

"You're staring, rookie” he murmured.