
Her fingertips moved with a hypnotic rhythm, tracing lazy circles over his chest that made the hairs on his skin stand on end. The warmth of her touch contrasted sharply with the cool air around them, drawing a quiet shiver from deep within him.
He closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensation, to the deliberate tease of her slow, unhurried strokes. Just when he thought he could bear no more, she stopped—abruptly, intentionally—leaving his skin aching for what wasn’t there.
Opening his eyes, he found her watching him with a smile that was equal parts satisfaction and challenge. She held his gaze like a secret, daring him to ask for more without breaking the spell she’d woven.
In that pause, he realized that sometimes the most potent touch is the one that almost isn’t. The circle she drew was a promise—of pleasure held in reserve, of moments stretched thin and made precious by waiting.
Her control was absolute, and he was more than willing to follow wherever she led.