The first time I felt it.. the quiet, electrifying weight of his attention.I was leading a Teams meeting, trying desperately to focus on the agenda instead of the man sitting across from me. Daniel, my boss. My ridiculously commanding, devastatingly confident boss who seemed to have an uncanny ability to unnerve me with nothing but a glance. And lately, he had been testing me. Subtly. Persistently. As if he knew exactly how to push me to the edge without ever crossing the line.

A comment that lingered too long. A brush of his fingers when handing me a something. A look—dark and knowing—held for just a second too long. I told myself I imagined it, that I was reading into nothing. But deep down, I knew better.

It was just the two of us in the office. Everyone else was remote. The large conference room felt both too big and too small all at once, the air between us thick with something unspoken. I could feel his gaze on me as I clicked through the presentation slides, my voice steady despite the rapid flutter of my pulse. “And as you can see,” I continued, clearing my throat slightly, “this quarter’s performance shows a positive trend, though we still need to monitor...” A soft noise. Barely audible, but enough to make my skin prickle. My eyes flicked toward him, but he looked infuriatingly composed, fingers steepled beneath his chin, expression unreadable. He wasn’t even pretending to look at the screen.

My fingers curled against the table. I kept speaking, pushing through my notes, but I could feel it.. his attention like a slow burn against my skin, a deliberate distraction that had me hyperaware of every movement, every breath. “Any questions?” I asked, scanning the faces on the screen. A moment of silence. Then Alex, one of the managers spoke up, and I exhaled, relieved. Until I felt the shift.

Daniel leaned back in his chair, his eyes still locked onto mine. He wasn’t looking at the screen. He was looking at me. Studying. Testing. Playing. I swallowed hard, struggling to hold my composure. The conversation carried on, my colleagues oblivious to the tension crackling in the room, to the way his gaze never wavered. “Strong presentation,” one of the directors noted. “We’ll review and follow up.” I nodded, managing a professional smile. “Thank you.”

The call ended. The Teams window vanished. Silence. I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of it settle between us. “Well done,” he murmured, his voice softer now, meant only for me. My breath hitched. “Thank you.” He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “You sure you weren’t a little… distracted?” I stiffened. “I...”

The smirk that tugged at his lips was dangerous. Knowing. Then, just as effortlessly as he unraveled me, he pushed back his chair and stood. Adjusted his watch. Smoothed his tie. “Next time,” he murmured, walking past me, his hand grazing the back of my chair, “try not to let me get in your head.” And then he was gone, leaving me breathless and burning, wondering just how much further he planned to push me.

And more dangerously... how much I wanted him to.