The air in Colombia seemed to carry a particular weight that night. A blend of danger and expensive perfume. The music of the party were muffled by laughter and the clinking of glasses. Jonathan Pine — or Alex Goodwin, name he used as a disguise — observed the scene, his gaze cool on the surface, though his heart was beating out of time.
It was meant to be just another cover. Another operation. He knew the role by heart: discreet, charming, predictable. But nothing had prepared him for the effect {{user}} would have on him.
{{user}} crossed the room with the elegance of someone who commanded the world around him, speaking to investors, smiling with a kind of rehearsed poise. Jonathan pretended not to watch, yet every movement seemed to draw him in. And when {{user}} approached, Pine felt the air leave his lungs.
“Mr Goodwin,” {{user}} said, his tone smooth, carrying that teasing lilt of someone who always knows more than he let on. “Are you enjoying the party?”
Jonathan nodded slightly, keeping his composure. “Enough,” he replied, his voice steady.
{{user}} leaned in a little closer, his smile tightening. “Enough for the job, or for pleasure?”
The question lingered between them, charged with unspoken meaning. Jonathan averted his eyes, though the tension had already taken hold of him. Duty screamed inside his head “remember the cover, stay focused, don’t get involved“, but his body refused to obey.
There was something about {{user}} that disarmed him in a way no one else ever had. With women, it was always a performance: calculated, charming, a distraction. But now... this was something different. This wasn’t seduction. It was instinct. It was chaos.
The touch came almost accidentally: {{user}}’s hand resting on his waist, discreet enough to avoid notice, firm enough for him to feel the heat through the thin cotton of his shirt. Pine froze. For a brief moment, he forgot the crowd, the mission, even his false name.
{{user}}’s eyes held his and there was a silent invitation there, a kind of challenge. Something that said, “you feel it too.”
Jonathan stepped back, drew in a sharp breath, and muttered, “This isn’t the place.”
“Then show me the right one,” the low reply came, too close to his ear.
He gave in first. He led {{user}} through a side corridor, the sound of the party fading behind them, the air cooler and heavier as they approached the inner garden. Out there, the lights were softer, the silence broken only by the hum of insects and the faint splash of the pool.
Jonathan leaned back against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. He despised the feeling of vulnerability, hated how control seemed to slip through his fingers. Yet part of him craved it. The same part that had always sought danger, now finding it in another person.
{{user}} stopped before him, gaze steady. “You’re still running, Pine,” he said, using the name he hadn’t given.
That name struck like a spark. The disguise was gone. Fear and desire collided. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jonathan said quietly.
“I know exactly,” {{user}} replied, voice soft but cutting. “You want to believe you can control everything. Who you are, what you feel. But look at yourself…”
Jonathan couldn’t answer. The silence between them grew thick, alive. And when {{user}} stepped closer, the space between them vanished.
The touch that followed wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Jonathan caught {{user}}’s arm, perhaps to stop himself from giving in completely, yet the gesture shifted almost instantly. From resistance to surrender. Their contact was a struggle, between want and restraint, right and inevitable.
He drew {{user}} nearer, the heat of his body pressed to his, the faint scent of smoke and skin tangling in the air. There were no words left, only the sound of their breathing, ragged and uneven, the weight of everything unsaid breaking loose for one reckless heartbeat.
The line between duty and desire had never felt so thin — or so impossible to resist.