It started with a silence, the kind that stretches between two people when neither wants to admit what’s really happening. She sat across from him, her eyes drifting elsewhere, as if the conversation or the room had stolen her attention. But her lips—soft, parted just slightly—caught between her teeth for a moment longer than necessary. He froze, struck not by the innocence of the act but by its precision. It wasn’t careless; it was a weapon, sharp and silent, aimed directly at him.
She held it there, her lip pressed delicately between her teeth, then released it with a faint sigh, a glimmer of moisture catching the light. Her eyes still didn’t meet his, as though she was unaware of the spell she was weaving. But he knew better. The rhythm of her breathing, the way her lashes fluttered, told him she was very aware. Every heartbeat in his chest grew louder, every second more unbearable, as if the simple act of her teeth on her lip had stripped away all his restraint. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t—she had tethered his gaze, made him hers without ever reaching out.
Finally, she did glance at him, quick and fleeting, as if checking the damage she had done. The faintest smile curved across her lips—not wide, not obvious, just enough to confirm she knew exactly what power she held. She looked away again, biting her lip once more, this time slower, deliberate, leaving him in no doubt. She was pretending, yes, but only to heighten the ache. She wanted him restless, wanted him undone by the smallest gesture. And she succeeded. For him, the most dangerous thing was realizing she hadn’t even touched him—yet she had already left him craving everything she hadn’t given.