Slowly.
Deliberately.
The way his gaze moves over me makes my skin tighten, like it’s being touched without being touched at all. It drags, unhurried, catching on the lace where it shows through the tears in the denim, tracing the line of my thigh without ever making contact.
My breath shifts before I can stop it.
I feel seen in a way that’s too specific.
Like he’s not just looking at what I’m wearing—he’s seeing what I was thinking when I chose it.
Heat flickers low in my stomach.
I shift my weight, adjusting the jacket without meaning to, suddenly aware of every inch of skin the outfit exposes.
His mouth curves slightly. Not a smile—something quieter.
He pushes off the table and walks toward me, unhurried, his focus never breaking, and the closer he gets, the harder it is to hold his gaze without feeling something inside me give.
I don’t step back.
I don’t move at all.
I just wait.
He stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, the space between us charged in a way that makes everything else fall away.
His hand lifts. Slow. Deliberate.
For a second I think he’s going to touch my face.
Instead, his fingers slide along the edge of the ripped denim, right where the lace shows through.
He doesn’t touch my skin.
But it feels like he does.
Heat pulses low. I press my thighs together, trying to contain it.
“You chose this.” His voice is low, steady, but there’s something in it that makes my pulse jump. Not a question. Something closer to recognition.
“I—yeah,” I say, softer than I mean to. “I just?—”
“It suits you.” He cuts in gently, his thumb pressing slightly into the fabric, anchoring me there.
The pressure sends a quiet reaction through me.
His eyes lift to mine, and there’s something darker in them now.
Focused.
Certain.
“You stop trying to disappear,” he says, like it’s a simple observation, “and you look like this.”
His hand slides from the edge of the shorts to my waist, settling there like it belongs, like there was never a version of this moment where it wouldn’t.
My body reacts before my brain does, a subtle pull toward him, a shift I don’t consciously make.