The room was full of chatter, but her mind stayed locked on him. She adjusted the strap of her dress once, then again, until it slid lower than it should have. It was a subtle move, almost careless, yet deliberate in the way her bare skin caught the soft light. She pretended to focus on her drink, but her eyes lifted toward him in quick, measured glances, waiting. Would he see? Would he ignore it, as if he hadn’t been watching her all along?
When his gaze finally shifted, landing where she wanted it most, her pulse quickened. He didn’t look away too quickly, nor did he linger shamelessly. It was the balance between restraint and desire, that perfect line married men always seemed to walk. The corner of her mouth curved, not quite a smile, but enough to acknowledge what had just passed between them. She rolled her shoulder back slightly, letting the fabric slide lower, letting him wonder how intentional it really was.
The conversation between them never changed tone—still ordinary, still safe—but beneath it ran a current neither could ignore. His eyes carried a new weight each time they met hers. And though her dress never fell further, the damage was already done. She had shown him just enough, given him the choice to imagine the rest. And in that space of possibility, she felt her body hum with the thrill of being noticed—exactly the way she wanted to be.