He didn’t expect her to push him into the chair so firmly, yet there he was—back pressed against the cool wood, his hands resting on his thighs, unsure if he should grip the edges or keep them still. She towered above him, her shadow spilling across his shoulders. Her voice had softened, almost casual, but there was an unmistakable command in the way she said, “Sit.”
He obeyed—perhaps too quickly—and the realization made something stir deep inside him. She didn’t touch him, not yet. Instead, she let the silence stretch, leaning forward just enough for him to feel the warmth of her presence. Her eyes scanned his face, noting every flicker of hesitation, every subtle tightening of his jaw. He had always been the one others looked to for strength, but now—beneath her gaze—he felt exposed, stripped of that quiet authority he usually carried.
She tilted her head, smiling slightly, almost as if amused by how easily he complied. Then she stepped closer, her knees brushing the outside of his. It wasn’t accidental; it was deliberate. He inhaled sharply, the closeness making it impossible for him to ignore the power dynamic she was weaving with invisible threads. Each second stretched like an eternity, and though part of him longed to rise, to reclaim some semblance of control, the stronger part of him wanted nothing more than to remain seated, to let her decide what came next.
When she finally placed her hand on his shoulder, it wasn’t gentle. It was firm, pressing him back into the chair as though to remind him: you’re not moving until I allow it. And that truth—so simple yet undeniable—was what thrilled him the most.