She likes me.
I move toward her, slow and controlled, setting the waterdown on the windowsill beside her. Her breath stutters, just barely. My fingers trail along her wrist, then lower, sliding across the back of her hand. I link our fingers together, skin on skin, touch to touch.
She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t speak. She just breathes, staring out the window. Letting me hold her.
A slow, satisfied smirk pulls at my lips.
She doesn’t have to say it. She’s already mine.
I tighten my grip on her hand, just a little, feeling the delicate bones beneath my fingertips. She’s so small. So warm. She still doesn’t say anything.
Her pulse ticks at the base of her throat, rapid and uneven. Her pupils are wide, swallowing the color of her eyes. Her chest rises and falls, her breath just a little too fast, her lips parted, her tongue peeking out to wet them as if she’s already preparing for something she hasn’t admitted to yet.
I drag my thumb over the back of her knuckles, slow and deliberate. Then I shift behind her, bringing my lips to her ear, my breath warm against her skin.
“Have you thought about it?” I ask quietly.
Her spine stiffens.
I smirk.
“Have you thought about me watching you?” I clarify, tightening my hold on her fingers when she twitches, clearly debating if she should step away. “Standing right here, seeing everything? Have you thought about what it would be like if I climbed through that window instead of just looking?” I hum, tilting my head. “If I got inside before they ever knew I was there?”
Her breath hitches.
Fuck.
I feel it in my gut. In my chest. In my cock.
She has.
She’s thought about it.
I don’t even need her to answer.
“I would have found you sleeping,” I continue, watching her in the reflection of the glass, studying the way her body reacts, the way her lashes flutter, the way she grips the windowsill tighter with her free hand. “Curled up under the blankets, maybe wearing something soft like this—” I let my free hand skim the edge of her tank top below her hoodie, the silk whispering against my fingertips. “—maybe nothing at all.”
A sharp inhale.
Another tell.
My smirk widens.
“I would have touched you then,” I murmur. “Would have crawled right into your bed and wrapped myself around you. Would have kissed you awake.” I press a lingering kiss just below her ear, breathing her in, letting her scent curl around me. “You would have let me.”
A full-body shiver racks through her.
Her thighs press together again. Her fingers curl against the window. Her scent deepens, sweet and ripe, filling the room with a dizzying rush of want.
Then she finally moves.
She turns in my grip, tilting her chin up, eyes locking onto mine. There’s defiance in that stare. But beneath it?
Curiosity.
Hunger.
Need.
