When his hand slid along her side, she felt the usual rhythm beginning. The dance most men defaulted to—eager hands, impatient lips, a rush to reach the finish.
And she’d pulled away before. Many times. Not because she didn’t want it—but because she wanted more than just that.
But this time was different. His touch hesitated. It listened.
So instead of retreating, she leaned in. Not to encourage—but to redirect. She took his hand—not tightly, not forcefully—and moved it slowly, carefully, to a place just beneath her shoulder blade.
That space no one ever paid attention to.
It was her signal. Her silent test.
Most men wouldn’t notice what that meant. But when his thumb began to circle there—not greedily, but reverently—she let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
He got it.
And she pulled him in. Closer. Not into her body—into her rhythm. Her intention.
Because desire isn’t about taking. It’s about tuning in.
And for once, she didn’t have to teach him how. She just had to let him follow… where no one else had dared.