She crouched on the cold wooden floor, her fingers tracing invisible patterns in the dust, her breath steady but expectant. The dim candlelight flickered against her bare skin, casting shifting shadows across her curves. She wasn’t hiding. Not really. She was waiting.
She had dropped something. At least, that was the excuse she had given herself when she kneeled down, knowing full well that if she stayed there long enough, he would find her like this—poised, vulnerable, aching.
The door creaked behind her, the sound splitting the silence. A slow inhale. Then, a deliberate pause. She could feel his eyes lingering, hesitant.
"You lose something?"
His voice was deep, laced with amusement.
"Mm." She tilted her head slightly but didn’t turn around. "Maybe."
A soft footstep, then another. Closer. She felt the air shift, the heat of his presence just behind her, hovering, undecided. The game had begun.
"You don’t seem to be looking very hard."
His tone was gentle, teasing.
She smirked, dragging her fingertips over the floor. "Maybe I'm not sure what I lost."
He crouched behind her, his breath grazing the damp strands of her hair. His fingers, warm and deliberate, traced the curve of her spine, lingering at the base before traveling lower, testing.
"Then maybe I should help you find it."
She exhaled slowly and measured, her body instinctively arching into the touch. His fingers moved lazily over her skin, exploring without urgency, as if he had all the time in the world. She resisted the urge to press back against him. Barely.
"Careful," she murmured. "I might just let you."
His chuckle was dark velvet against her ear. "Wouldn't that be a shame?"
The last of her resolve wavered as he traced his lips along her shoulder, his hand bracing her hip. The air around them thickened, every inch between them humming with unspoken tension. She had come here looking for something, after all.
And maybe—just maybe—she had found it.