It was supposed to be nothing. Just a casual brush of his hand as he helped her through the narrow doorway, the kind of touch that could have been forgotten in an instant. But she didn’t let it slip away. Instead, when his hand found her waist, she paused ever so slightly—long enough to let him know she had felt it, long enough to make it clear she didn’t mind. His fingers rested there, unsure, hesitant, caught between pulling away and pressing closer. She could have stepped forward, could have broken the moment with an easy stride. But she didn’t. She stayed still, her body angled just enough that his hand fit perfectly against her curves. Her silence was deliberate, her stillness louder than words.
The air between them thickened. She leaned subtly toward him, her waist soft beneath his palm, her breathing quiet but quickened. He could feel the heat radiating from her, as if his touch had awakened something she had been waiting for. She tilted her head slightly, giving him the side of her neck, a gesture that seemed casual but wasn’t. It was permission. It was invitation. His fingers didn’t move, but the weight of his touch grew heavier, more certain. She let him hold her there, savoring the tension of his restraint. Every second stretched longer than it should have, charged with an anticipation neither of them dared name aloud. She didn’t need to say she wanted it; her body said it for her, holding him close without ever tightening her grip.
By the time she finally stepped forward, it was too late to pretend nothing had happened. The press of his hand still lingered on her skin, leaving an invisible mark, a secret no one else could see. She carried it with her as she moved ahead, hips swaying just slightly, letting him know she had enjoyed the pause, the weight, the warmth of his palm. She hadn’t asked him to let go, because she hadn’t wanted him to. And though he followed without a word, he knew—she had allowed it on purpose. She wanted him to imagine what it would feel like if his hand slid lower, if his grip tightened, if she leaned back into him instead of forward. That unspoken promise hung between them, sweeter and more dangerous than any kiss.