That night was supposed to be mine alone. I had been trapped too long in routines that drained me—mornings filled with meetings, afternoons with my boss’s endless scolding, and nights when I came home only to find you already asleep. So when you finally stood in front of me, close enough for your breath to warm my face, it felt as though my entire body had been released from chains.

I pressed you against the bedroom wall, my body the barrier that locked you in place. My breathing was heavy, my chest rising fast, and I lowered my head immediately to claim your lips. The moment they touched mine, I kissed you like a starving man—hungry, impatient, almost feral. My tongue pushed inside, demanding space, exploring every heated corner of your mouth. A low sound, half groan, slipped from my throat.

My hands moved on their own. One cupped the back of your neck, fingers sliding through your hair, holding you so I could drown you deeper in the kiss. The other circled your waist, long fingers pressing into your back, pulling you tight against me. I could feel your heartbeat racing against mine, loud and insistent between our chests.

I shifted my stance, driving harder against you and the wall. Muscles in my chest and abdomen tightened, veins in my arms stood out as I held you where I wanted. My mouth left yours, sliding along your jaw and down your throat. I kissed, bit softly, then sucked until a faint mark lingered. My breath burned across your skin, and I felt the tremors running through your body.

Sweat gathered at my temple. I dragged my mouth across your shoulder, then to your collarbone. Your skin tasted of salt and sweetness, and it drove me mad. My grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging in, then sliding down your thigh. In one motion I lifted it, guiding your leg to hook around my waist. My body moved forward on instinct, pressing closer until no space remained. My thighs flexed to hold the weight, one hand anchoring you firm.

I tilted my head back, staring at you from close range. My breath ragged, my eyes darkened with something wild. “I missed you,” I rasped, my voice low, rough, almost a plea. My jaw clenched as I forced myself not to lose control too quickly.

I caught your lips again, this time slower, deeper, deliberate. My tongue moved against yours, demanding, memorizing. My broad chest pressed into yours, my body hot, every muscle taut. My hand gripped your thigh tighter, the other still holding your nape, trapping you in my kiss.

My body trembled. My biceps bulged as I carried your weight, veins sharp beneath the dim light. Sweat coated my skin, every breath tightening my abdomen. Even my groans spilled deep and hoarse against your skin.

Just as I was about to move lower, a small voice sounded from behind the door.

“Papa?”

My entire body froze. My lips halted, my heart thudded wildly. You stilled too, though I felt the faint shiver of surprise.

A soft knock followed, then a whimpering voice, “Papa, I can’t sleep.”

I shut my eyes, forehead dropping to your shoulder. My breath came heavy, almost a growl of frustration. My fingers still dug into your waist, refusing to let go. Every part of me screamed not to stop, yet your gaze forced me to surrender.

Reluctantly, I lowered you, letting your feet touch the floor again. My hand lingered at your waist before I turned toward the door. My muscles still tense, chest rising fast, sweat on my flushed face, and I knew this wasn’t finished.

The moment I opened the door, a small body with messy hair launched into my arms.

“Papa!” he shouted, arms wrapping tight around my neck.

I exhaled, glancing at his bright face, then back at you. You stood by the wall, your face flushed, a small smile hidden behind your hand.

Inside, I cursed silently—wasn’t it enough that work had stolen my time, and now my son too had come to steal the night that should’ve been mine?

Yet as his warmth clung to me, the anger melted into something gentler. Still, one thing was certain—this night wasn’t over. I would come back to claim every moment that had been stolen.