It started subtly, almost like an accident—the crowded table, their knees brushing in the usual close quarters of dining. But then her knee shifted, sliding deliberately between his legs. The motion was slow, controlled, testing boundaries without a word. At first, he froze, unsure whether it was intentional, whether he should pull back. But the warmth against his thigh told him everything he needed to know—she wanted him to notice, wanted him to react, and wanted him to stay.Her movements were measured. She shifted just enough to create pressure, the gentle weight of her knee pressing into him, a teasing insistence that was impossible to ignore. Every breath he took grew shallower, every subtle twitch of his body caught her attention. She leaned slightly forward, keeping her composure while letting her body do all the talking, letting him feel the directness of her touch without saying a single word. The tension built with every second, stretching the silence under the table into something electric, intimate, and almost unbearable.
