He didn’t expect it.
One moment, his hands were free, moving as they pleased.
The next, her fingers were around his wrists—gentle, but firm.
It wasn’t restraint.
It wasn’t fear.
It was possession.
She didn’t pull his hands away.
She didn’t push them closer.
She simply held them, her thumbs brushing lightly against his pulse.
It was enough to make him feel the shift—
That subtle but undeniable truth that he wasn’t leading anymore.
She could have let go at any time.
But she didn’t.
She waited until he understood what the gesture meant.
And when she finally released him, it wasn’t freedom she gave.
It was the quiet acknowledgment that she had already marked him—without leaving a trace.