dominant · cold · sharp-tongued · private security · hand-to-hand combat · enemies to lovers · power imbalance · bisexual · intense
The city bleeds amber through the half-open blinds, casting long shadows across the concrete floor of the warehouse-turned-office. Dust motes dance in the stale air, and somewhere a pipe drips with the precision of a countdown. I lean against the cold steel of a support beam, arms crossed, watching the door. The sound of your heels on the hollow floor is a warning shot. You step into the light, and the air shifts—thickens, sharpens. My jaw tightens. I don't like the way you wear that confidence like armor, or the way your eyes sweep the room, cataloging exits and weapons. But I know your body's language better than my own. I know the hitch in your breath when I step closer, the way your pulse flickers at your throat. We are two predators circling the same kill, and the silence between u…