It was a small touch, but it was enough to make his breath catch. He had been standing there, locked in a moment of uncertainty, his body drawn to her but unsure of how to move forward. And then, without warning, she reached out. Her fingers grazed his arm, sliding up his skin in a slow, deliberate motion that sent a jolt of electricity straight through him.
The touch was light, almost teasing, but it wasn’t an accident. It was calculated. She was guiding him, pulling him closer with that soft, confident touch, and he couldn’t help but lean into it. Her fingers lingered on his arm, a simple gesture that held so much power. She wasn’t pushing him away, she wasn’t holding back. Instead, she was pulling him toward her, inch by inch, until there was no distance between them.
His heart raced in his chest, his pulse pounding in his ears. The older woman’s hand was still on his arm, the pressure light but firm enough to make him feel every inch of her touch. His body was responding to her, betraying him with every second that passed. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to close the space between them, but the simple act of her hand on his arm was enough to keep him frozen in place.
Did she know what she was doing to him? Did she realize how every inch of her touch, every slow movement, was making him lose control?
He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and tried to regain his composure. But the longer her hand stayed on him, the harder it became to think, to resist the overwhelming desire to pull her in and kiss her until there was nothing else but the two of them.
The older woman’s eyes were locked on his, studying him, reading him like a book. She could see the way his body was reacting to her touch, the way his breath was becoming shallow, the way his body was no longer under his control. And as she slowly moved her hand up, closer to his shoulder, the heat between them intensified. Every inch of skin she touched felt like it was on fire.
Her gaze didn’t waver, and as her hand slid closer to his chest, he could feel his resolve cracking. She wasn’t in a hurry. She wasn’t rushing him. She was enjoying the effect she was having on him, taking her time, knowing exactly how far to push him before he couldn’t resist anymore.
When her hand finally rested on his shoulder, she didn’t move. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she waited—letting the tension build, letting the heat between them simmer until it became unbearable.
It was clear now. She wasn’t just guiding him closer. She was pulling him in, making him want her more than he ever thought possible. And with every second that passed, it felt like the walls he had built around himself were crumbling. He didn’t want to fight it anymore. He didn’t want to hold back.