She never thought a simple touch could make her feel so undone. But every time his hand brushes across her shoulder, a jolt runs through her, and her heart stutters in her chest. It’s always the same—gentle, almost casual, as if he’s reaching to pass her a document or grab something off the shelf beside her. But every time it happens, she feels it. His hand lingers for just a second too long, as if he’s unwilling—or unable—to let go completely, even in that fleeting moment. It’s innocent enough, she tells herself. He’s just being polite, just trying to maneuver through the crowd. But her body betrays her.
The touch isn’t rough or forceful, but it sends a wave of heat to her skin. The soft graze of his fingers against her shoulder ignites something deep within her, something primal and raw that she can’t explain. She holds her breath for a moment, trying to steady herself, but the way her body responds—how she instinctively leans slightly into him—betrays any effort to remain composed. She wonders, for just a second, if he feels the same thing, if he notices the way her muscles tense under his touch, how she seems to melt just a little when he’s near.
But she can’t let herself go down that path. He’s married, after all. He has a life, a commitment, and she knows better than to get involved in anything that might lead her down a dangerous road. Still, every time his hand grazes her shoulder, she can’t help but imagine.
She imagines what it would be like if he didn’t pull away so quickly, if he allowed his hand to rest a little longer, to travel down her back just slightly, his fingers pressing into her skin with the same intensity she can feel rising inside of her. What would happen then? She imagines him leaning closer, his breath on her neck, the warmth of his body so near she can feel the heat radiating between them. Would she turn to him, would she allow herself to fall into that moment, to explore what might happen if they gave in to the magnetic pull between them?
Her thoughts race, and she’s helpless to stop them. She tries to focus, tries to keep her mind on the conversation they’re having, but her mind keeps drifting back to the touch—the way his fingers seemed to linger on her shoulder, as if waiting for something. It’s a small gesture, one that could mean nothing at all, but in her mind, it’s everything. She can almost hear the unspoken words between them, the things he doesn’t say but communicates with the way his hand moves, with the heat that lingers long after he’s pulled away.
Every time he does it, it becomes harder to ignore. The attraction between them is undeniable, and no matter how hard she tries to push it away, the fantasies keep growing stronger. What if they let themselves go, just for a moment? What if they stopped pretending that nothing was happening between them and let the tension finally break? She doesn’t know if she’s ready for that, but the idea of it keeps swirling in her mind, the touch of his hand on her shoulder haunting her long after they’ve parted.