They were seated side by side on the couch, the dim light of the room casting soft shadows across her features. At first, it seemed accidental—her knee brushing against his as she shifted to reach for a magazine on the table. But then, slowly, deliberately, she left it there. The pressure was light, almost casual, yet every subtle touch sent awareness shooting through him.
He tried to ignore it, told himself it was just proximity, nothing more. But the warmth of her leg against his, the slight movement as she leaned forward to adjust a pillow, made it impossible to maintain the pretense. Her knee pressed in a rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the beat of his pulse. She wasn’t rushing. She was letting him notice, testing him, allowing the tension to build with every passing second.
Her gaze met his over the top of the magazine, calm and knowing. There was no embarrassment in her eyes, no hint of uncertainty—only deliberate intent. She shifted slightly, brushing a hand along the couch arm, letting her hair cascade just enough to brush his shoulder as she leaned forward. The combined effect of warmth, subtle contact, and eye contact left him simultaneously aware and helpless, conscious of every inch of her presence.
“You like that, don’t you?” she murmured softly, the tone light but loaded with intent. Her words weren’t a question—they were a statement, a confirmation that she had noticed his reactions, measured them, and allowed herself to control the moment entirely.
He didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t. The subtle pressure, the slow, teasing hold of her knee, and the soft warmth radiating from her made every thought scatter. By the time she finally shifted, withdrawing her leg, the lingering memory of contact left him both flushed and acutely aware of the dominance she had wielded without overt action.