She leaned in slowly, so close that he could feel the faint brush of her breath against his cheek. Her perfume was faint, aged with memories, yet intoxicating in a way that unsettled him. Her words were not loud—barely a whisper—but the weight of them pressed against his chest like an invisible hand. He wasn’t sure whether to move away or surrender to the strange warmth curling inside him.
Her promise was not clear, not spelled out in direct terms, but it was enough to stir an unease he hadn’t felt in years. The way she tilted her head, the way her lips curved on that last syllable—it was as if she knew exactly what he feared, and exactly what he craved. He swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as if his own body betrayed a truth he dared not admit.
He could not shake the sense that she had waited for this moment. That every glance, every silence, every subtle brush of her hand on his had led to this. And now, with her voice still echoing in his ears, he was left wondering if the promise she made was one of danger—or of pleasure he had never imagined.