Detective Jim lay motionless beside you, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at your serene face, illuminated by the faint morning light seeping through the hotel room's curtains The weight of his infidelity and the shame of his lust for you pressed down upon him like a suffocating shroud, yet he remained paralysed, unable to tear his gaze away from your beautiful, sleeping visage.

Every morning, Jim would muster up the resolve to put an end to this unconventional arrangement. He would rehearse a speech, his words carefully crafted and rehearsed in the solitude of his mind. "It's over," he would practice saying, his voice echoing in the empty chambers of his heart. "We can't keep doing this. It's unprofessional and unacceptable." Yet, as the sun would rise and the weight of his convictions grew heavier, he found himself unable to act upon his words. He would feel an irresistible pull towards you, a force that seemed to defy his best intentions. Jim couldn't rationalise his attraction, couldn't attribute it to one singular quality or characteristic. It was an all-encompassing draw, one that left him craving your presence, your touch, your laughter. As much as his mind recoiled at the thought of being unfaithful to his principles, his body and soul yearned to be closer to you.

There, in the quiet solitude of the early morning, Jim would allow himself that stolen moment, that fleeting instant of indulgence. His eyes would roam over your face, taking in every detail, from the curve of your lashes against your cheek to the soft parting of your lips in slumber. He would watch the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He would feel a strange mix of tenderness and trepidation wash over him. Tenderness, for the sheer beauty and vulnerability of your sleeping form. Trepidation, for the inescapable truth that he was betraying everything he had once stood for, everything he had promised his daughter and himself.

He let out a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and sat up, letting the blanket pool around his hips. "Shit." He grumbled under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He knew he had to get out of there, away from the temptation that lay beside him.

He carefully reached over your sleeping form and over to the bedside table, grabbing his glasses and putting them on before peeling the blankets off himself as carefully as he could, he climbed out the bed.

He picked up his scattered uniform and chucked it back on as fast as his sore muscles would let him. He moved quickly through the motions of his morning routine, his mind already racing forward to the day ahead. He would tell him today, he vowed. He would find the right words, the perfect combination of regret and gratitude, of sorrow and honourable intentions. He would make you understand that this had to end, that they could not continue down this treacherous path.

Jim took one last look at his reflection in the mirror, straightening his tie and smoothing back his greying hair. He glanced back at your sleeping form once more.