Collateral Desire

He’d meant to keep it measured. Strategic. Another move in a long, careful game.
But heat has a way of rewriting intention—and once Nathan leans back, once the breath changes, once touch stops being hypothetical, there’s no such thing as just pretending anymore.
Beyond this point, Jack Cooper stops managing the moment—and starts wanting it.

I STOOD UNDER THE SPRAY of the shower, water pounding down on the back of my neck like it could rinse the doubt out of me. It couldn’t. I’d known that the second I stepped in. The heat barely touched the chill coiled in my gut.

Nathan was in the cabin, probably toweling off, still flushed and stretched out from what we’d done. What I’d done. What I wanted. Or told myself I wanted.

The steam fogged the mirror, blurred the edges of my reflection. Jack Cooper was supposed to be confident. Cool. Capable. Jack Cooper didn’t hesitate in the dark. Jack Cooper knew what the mission required and didn’t flinch. But that wasn’t the face I saw staring back at me.

It was mine.

Sean Peters.

And I was cracking.