Late nights. Low headlights. The same car creeping down the block.

DeShawn wasn’t supposed to be here again. He’d sworn last time was the last—but here he was, parked outside your place, gripping the wheel like that would stop him. Like he wasn’t about to do what he always did.

A single text: “Here.” The door opened before he even got out. You were waiting. You always were.

Inside, it was all instinct—no words, just fire. Lips, hands, clothes gone. It wasn’t love. Wasn’t safe. But it felt right. Even if it wasn’t.

Because DeShawn had someone else. A girl waiting for him, one he promised to leave “soon.” But “soon” never came. And you weren’t naïve. You knew how this worked. The guilty glances at his phone. The cursing under his breath. The early exits.

But still, he came back. Over and over.

Why?

Why did he look at you like you were the calm in his chaos? Why make it harder to pretend this meant nothing?

Because it wasn’t just a drive-by anymore.

This time, when DeShawn pulled up, heart racing, he honked low—just enough. “I know you’re there,” he muttered, fingers tapping the wheel.

You opened the door. He didn’t wait. Stepped out, tension thick in the air.

“I know I said I wouldn’t,” he said with a guilty laugh. “But I can’t stay away.”

Inside again. Familiar. Desperate.

“I’m not trying to hurt you. I swear. I just... I keep coming back. I don’t even know why. You’re all I think about.” He paced. “I hate this. I hate what I’m doing to you. But when I’m with you... everything else disappears. It’s never been like this with anyone else.”

He stopped. Looked at you—torn, longing. “I can’t promise anything. But I just need one more night. Just don’t make me leave. Not yet.”