The room was full, bodies moving close together, conversations overlapping in waves. He thought the crowd was the reason she leaned into him at first. But then her hip brushed his, and instead of adjusting to give space, she pressed harder, aligning herself flush against his side. It was subtle enough to pass as happenstance to anyone watching, yet to him it was deliberate—undeniably so. The warmth of her body radiated through the thin fabric, seeping into his skin, and suddenly he was aware of her in a way that made the rest of the room dissolve into blur.
She continued to talk casually, her voice light and natural, while her body stayed pressed against his with quiet insistence. Each time he shifted, she followed, reclaiming the closeness, as if daring him to acknowledge what was happening. The pressure of her hip grew firmer, more aligned with his frame, until he felt her rhythm every time she moved or breathed. It was a claim disguised as proximity, a silent game only they understood. He could feel the curve of her body molded against his, her subtle sway brushing against him with every passing second, and though his face remained composed, his pulse betrayed him, hammering beneath the surface.
When she finally leaned back just slightly, the absence was worse than the closeness. His body ached with the sudden space she’d created, craving the friction that had burned into him. But then she returned, pressing her hip more firmly this time, as though rewarding his restraint with deeper contact. The back-and-forth rhythm of her teasing left him restless, caught in her silent command. She knew exactly what she was doing: in a room full of people, she had made the smallest point of contact into the loudest secret, forcing him to surrender to the heat of her body against his, unable to look away from the sly smile she wore as if she owned every inch of his composure.