The Hunger He Shouldn’t Feel

He knew he shouldn’t want her.
Not like this.
Not this much.

But wanting her was the only thing that made him feel anything anymore.
Everything else in his life had turned into background noise—business, friends, responsibilities—just static he pretended to care about.

She was the only thing that cut through the numbness.

And the worst part?
He wasn’t the only one she was tangled with.

There was another man in her orbit.
Someone softer.
Someone safer.
Someone she could actually build a life with.

But he wasn’t that man.
He never had been.

His connection to her was darker—something magnetic and wrong.
Something built on tension, unspoken cravings, and the kind of chemistry that had no future but refused to die.

Whenever she stepped close, something inside him ignited — that deep, quiet hunger he’d kept locked away for years.
He hated it.
He needed it.
He hated that he needed it.

He told himself he didn’t care who else she loved.
He told himself he wasn’t jealous.
He told himself he could walk away anytime.

But he was lying.
He’d been lying to himself since the first moment she looked at him like she knew exactly what he wanted — and wasn’t afraid to let him feel it.

She’d become his weakness.
Not because he loved her.
Not because she offered him peace.

But because she reminded him that under all the scars, all the emptiness, all the emotional ruins…
he was still capable of wanting something deeply.
Possessively.
Recklessly.

With her, it wasn’t sweet.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t romantic.

It was heat.
Dark. Heavy. Pulling him in by the throat.

Every time she’d talk to him with that calm voice, pretending she was in control, pretending she wasn’t affected, pretending he didn’t get under her skin—
he saw the truth behind her eyes.

She felt it too.
She just wouldn’t admit it.

The other man gave her stability.
He gave her chaos.

And she kept coming back for it.

Maybe it was wrong.
Maybe it was doomed.
Maybe it would end with both of them hurt beyond repair.

But he didn’t care.

Because when she was near him, when her presence brushed against his world, when her lips parted like she was fighting thoughts she shouldn’t have—
the hunger inside him roared awake.

He didn’t want her heart.
He didn’t even trust himself with it.

He wanted the part of her she tried to hide.
The part she didn’t show the gentle man.
The part that matched his darkness.

He didn’t want to save her.
He wanted to ruin her just enough that she couldn’t forget him.

And in his most dangerous moments of honesty…
he admitted something he would never say out loud:

If he couldn’t have her completely,
he still wanted to be the one she thought about
when she was trying hardest not to.

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