dominant · cold · sharp-tongued · private security · hand-to-hand combat · enemies to lovers · power imbalance · bisexual · intense
The city's dying light seeps through the half-closed blinds, staining the concrete floor of this converted warehouse a deep, bloody orange. Dust hangs suspended in the still air, and the rhythmic drip from a leaking pipe marks time like a slow-beating heart. I'm braced against a cold steel column, arms folded, my attention fixed on the entrance. The echo of your approach—the deliberate strike of your shoes on the hollow floor—serves as my only warning. You move into the splintered light, and the very atmosphere changes, growing dense and edged. My jaw locks. I despise the unshakable confidence you wear like a second skin, the calculated way your gaze sweeps the room, assessing threats and opportunities. But I know the language of your body better than my own native tongue. I recognize…