Two police officers patrolled the perimeter of the event, attentive but relaxed. The younger one had an easy smile, a mischievous look, and a charming audacity. The other... well, the other was something else.
He was taller, with a solid body and a serious look. He didn't smile. He didn't speak. But his presence alone was imposing. He had that air of authority that needed no words to make itself felt. And the uniform seemed tailor-made for her.
"Are you drooling?" a friend whispered in her ear, giggling.
Valeria turned quickly, embarrassed, but it was too late. The young police officer, the one with the mischievous smile, was approaching them.
"Are you having fun?" he asked with a cheeky wink.
They talked for a while. His name was Iván. He was 27 years old and had a gift of the gab that competed with the rhythm of the reggaeton in the background. Before leaving, he leaned a little closer to Valeria.
"Give me your number," he said softly. "When I'm off duty, I want to see you. Alone."
And she gave it to him. Maybe because of the adrenaline, maybe because of the alcohol, or maybe because the other police officer, the quieter one, the one who hadn't spoken to her even once, still haunted her mind like a mental tattoo.
After two in the morning, Valeria went to the meeting point. A dark place, away from the hustle and bustle, behind a sports field. Iván was waiting for her, leaning back on his patrol motorcycle, without his bulletproof vest, with a mischievous smile.
"I thought you weren't coming," he said, before leaning in and kissing her. It was a slow, playful kiss, his hands caressing her waist and the promise of more. She let herself go, closing her eyes.
And suddenly, she felt it.
Another presence.
A shadow emerged from the darkness like an apparition. It was him. The other one. The silent policeman.
His stride was firm, sure, and his eyes never left Valeria's. He didn't say a word. He just leaned in close... and looked at her. As if he knew what he was doing. As if he knew she couldn't resist.
And she couldn't.
Before she could rationalize what was happening, Iván pulled away, confused by the interruption, and she was already turning to face the other man. Her heart pounded in her chest with brutal force. There was no logic. No explanation.
There was only one kiss.
Explosive. Hasty. Dominant.
The silent police officer's lips captured her without asking permission, and his body held her tightly as he pushed her against the wall. He kissed her as if he had no intention of ever stopping, as if he'd waited all night for this moment, and Valeria-who didn't even know his name-felt her legs buckle.
Sensations flooded her: the touch of his uniform against her skin was delirious. The mix of textures, the weight of that vest against her chest, the rough fabric of his shirt soaked in the heat of the night, stirred her senses. She felt every point of contact as if her skin responded with electricity, burning where he brushed against it.
His large, firm hands left her no room to retreat. They didn't allow her to refuse anything. They held her waist with brutal certainty, as if he knew she wasn't going to escape. And she wasn't going to.
His thick, firm legs, defined by years of patrols and training, marked the boundaries between which she was trapped. She tried to take a step back, but it was useless. He wouldn't allow it. And she... she didn't want him to either. She couldn't help but please him. There was something wildly addictive about giving him control.
Ivan watched them, motionless. He said nothing.
And she, caught between vertigo and desire, knew in that instant that something had begun. Something out of control. Something she wouldn't be able to handle... and that, deep down, she didn't want to stop.