The Desire You Shouldn't Admit

There’s a particular kind of attraction that feels more dangerous than any other. Not because of age. Not because of gender. But because of proximity.

The desire that creeps too close to your own life.The desire that threatens to burn down everything if you act on it.

The desire that keeps you awake at night because you can’t stop replaying a glance, a smile, a moment that was never supposed to matter.

That’s the story I want to tell you today.

The Boy Who Should Have Been Untouchable

He was my daughter’s boyfriend.

That alone should have been enough to stop me. To put a wall between us. To keep everything clean, respectable, and untangled.

But walls are useless when desire finds a crack.

At first it was nothing. A polite handshake, a smile at the dinner table, small talk about sports, the weather. He was just another boy in her orbit. Another name, another face.

And then one evening he laughed, that deep, reckless kind of laugh that shakes something loose inside of you , and I looked at him differently.

That was the first mistake. Looking too long.

The second mistake was catching him looking back.

The Glance That Changed Everything

It happened in the kitchen. The others were in the living room, voices muffled by the television. He came in for a glass of water. I was already there.

Our eyes met. Just a second too long.

A flicker.

A shift.

The kind of moment that feels ordinary to anyone else, but between the two of us, it hummed like electricity.

I should have stepped back. Should have looked away. Should have laughed it off.

Instead, I poured his drink. My hand brushed his as I passed the glass. The touch was nothing. Meaningless.

Except it wasn’t. We both knew it.

That was the third mistake. Touching.

The Tension That Wouldn’t Leave

After that night, everything was different.

Every glance lasted longer. Every smile carried a shadow. Every word we spoke felt heavy with what we weren’t saying.

I started noticing things I shouldn’t: the way his shirt clung when he leaned forward, the curve of his throat when he swallowed, the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

Desire doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t care about rules, or titles, or the mess it will make. It just grows, creeping through the cracks, until it’s everywhere. Until you’re choking on it.

And that’s where I found myself: choking on a want I couldn’t name out loud.

Why the Forbidden Thrills Us

Maybe you’re reading this and judging me already. Maybe you think it’s disgusting, dangerous, unforgivable.

Or maybe you’re reading this and your heart is pounding, because you know exactly what I mean.

That’s the thing about forbidden attraction: it splits us in two. Part of us wants to deny it, bury it, kill it before it grows. The other part wants to feed it, water it, watch it consume everything.

The daughter’s boyfriend. The untouchable boy. The one you should never notice.

But you do.

A Teaser — Just Close Enough

I booked the hotel room before I could talk myself out of it.

Not the kind of hotel where anyone we knew would stay, something far enough from home, anonymous, discreet.

The message I sent Luca was short:

Room 412. Noon.

I didn’t know if he’d come.

But twenty minutes past noon, the door opened, and there he was.

“Jesus, Victor,” he said, stepping inside and locking the door behind him. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to sneak out of work for this?”

“I didn’t give you a choice,” I said, my voice low.

He looked me up and down, lips curling into that grin that always undid me. “You’re serious. You’re really that desperate.”

I grabbed his wrist and pulled him against me before I could stop myself. “You know damn well what you’ve done to me.”

His smirk deepened. “You mean proposing to your daughter?”

I swallowed hard. “You blindsided me.”

“You asked me to stop her from suspecting,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s what I did. I fixed it. I saved us.”

“You call that saving us?” I hissed.

“Yes,” he said, his lips brushing my ear. “Because now she thinks I’m obsessed with her, not you.”

The words hit me like a punch.

I shoved him back against the wall, kissing him so hard our teeth clashed.

“God, you’re sick,” I muttered against his mouth.

“And you love it,” he said, tugging his shirt off in one swift move.

We didn’t even make it to the bed at first.

I pushed him back against the wall, my mouth on his throat, sucking hard enough to leave marks.

“You’re mine,” I growled.

“I’m your daughter’s fiancé,” he said, taunting me, smiling that wicked smile.

That broke something in me.

I turned him around, shoved his sweats down, and grabbed his hips.

“This is insane,” I muttered.

“So fuck me and make me forget,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder.

We didn’t bother being quiet, there was no one to hear.

I lined up and pushed into him in one rough, claiming thrust.

He gasped, his hands braced against the wall.

“Harder,” he said immediately.

I grabbed his shoulders and obeyed, setting a brutal rhythm, my hips slamming into him over and over until the sound echoed in the room.

“You wanted this,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Yes,” he panted. “God, yes.”

Eventually, we stumbled to the bed, still joined, collapsing onto it with him on all fours.

He arched back against me, meeting every thrust, crying out loud enough that I had to grab a fistful of his hair to keep him from screaming the place down.

“Shut up,” I warned, biting his shoulder.

He just laughed breathlessly. “Make me.”

So I did, pounding into him until sweat dripped down my spine, until I couldn’t think, until every nerve was on fire.

When I finally grabbed him and pulled him up against my chest, stroking him hard while I buried myself deep one last time, he came with a shout, clenching around me so tight it ripped my own release out of me, leaving me shaking, my forehead pressed to his shoulder.

We stayed like that for a long time, bodies slick, the room filled with our breathing.

Finally, he turned his head to look at me. “You’re quiet.”

I pulled out of him slowly, sitting back on the bed. “You didn’t even ask me before you told her about your parents.”

He smirked. “Would you have said yes?”

This is what I write as Julian Kane: the stories of forbidden men, the dangerous pull of what should be untouchable, the desires we’re told to hide.

Not everyone will understand. Not everyone should. But if you’ve felt that hunger, if you’ve wanted what you shouldn’t, then you already know why these stories matter.

And you know why I’ll never stop writing them.

For the unfiltered versions, the full stories where the line actually gets crossed, you can find my work https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FQLH3SJN?binding=kindle_edition&ref=dbs_dp_rwt_sb_pc_tkin.