The lights were low enough to make every shadow feel like a dare. I backed her against the wall, close enough that the air between us seemed to sizzle, but careful not to touch—yet. The space itself was alive, charged with anticipation, every second stretching longer than the one before. My hand rose slowly, deliberately, hovering just short of her skin, teasing, testing, daring her to react.

“Say stop,” I whispered, letting the words hang in the space between us. But she didn’t. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull away. Her pulse betrayed her, quickening with every heartbeat, and I smiled at that—the quiet confession of desire she hadn’t said aloud. I leaned closer, mouth brushing near enough to steal her breath without taking it, letting the tension build until it became almost unbearable.

When my fingers finally slid to her waist, firm and deliberate, the air between us seemed to ignite. The tension snapped like lightning—soft, sharp, perfect—and for a moment, the world ceased to exist beyond the warmth of that instant. Some experiences are understood without words. They pause… they linger. They stay with you, echoing long after the moment has passed, leaving you craving just a taste more.