The necklace wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to tip forward when she leaned toward him. A simple pendant, nothing remarkable, except for where it landed—dangling just above the curve of skin she had revealed without seeming to notice. He froze, because the moment was too precise to be coincidence. She could have adjusted it, could have leaned back, but instead she let it sway there, catching light, catching his eyes, making them follow where they already longed to go.
Her voice continued, casual, as if she were speaking of something mundane, but the rhythm of her words was secondary to the rhythm of her body. The bend of her posture, the slight tilt of her head, the way her blouse opened just enough—it was all framed by that necklace, like an arrow pointing to the place he shouldn’t stare. And she knew. He could see it in the way her lips curved while she spoke, how her tone dropped to a softer hum, as though she enjoyed watching his silence grow heavier.
When she finally sat back, the pendant slid away, disappearing from sight as quickly as it had appeared. But the damage lingered. He wasn’t thinking about her words, only about the gleam of silver against the warmth of her skin, and how easily she had controlled his focus without ever touching him. She looked at him then, just long enough to confirm where his thoughts had been, and smiled faintly, the kind of smile that wasn’t teasing so much as promising. It said: if you stared once, you’ll stare again—and next time, I might let it fall a little lower.