He had been on his way out, jacket in hand, when he found her leaning against the doorway. The frame became her stage, and she filled it effortlessly—one shoulder pressed against the wood, one hip angled just enough to suggest intention. She didn’t move aside. Instead, she tilted her body forward, closing the space until he could feel the heat radiating from her.
For a moment, neither spoke. Her arm reached up lazily, her fingers tracing the edge of the doorframe as though marking her territory. The way her eyes held his—unblinking, steady—made it clear she wasn’t simply in his way. She was daring him to decide whether to brush past her… or something else.
He shifted, but she mirrored the move, her body aligning with his, close enough that her breath touched his collar. The faint perfume clinging to her hair mixed with the warmth of her skin, and he felt the wall at his back even before he realized he hadn’t taken a step forward. Her knee grazed his as she leaned in further, the contact subtle but deliberate.
It was no longer about leaving or staying. It was about the way she held the space between them hostage, turning a simple doorway into a trap woven with suggestion. She didn’t need words; her silence was an invitation wrapped in defiance, her closeness a challenge he wasn’t sure he wanted to escape.