WOMEN who wait until he’s about to speak—then touch his hand—know exactly what they’re doing. That split-second timing, the brush of fingers just as his lips part, derails his words and reroutes his focus. It’s not accidental; it’s a power play, soft but unyielding. She’s not just touching him—she’s saying “I control the rhythm here,” turning his next sentence into a stutter, his attention into a gift she’s earned.