His hand was resting gently on her stomach, a safe place, a neutral place—
the place where cautious men linger when they don’t want to assume too much.
But she had no patience for caution.
Her palm landed on the back of his hand with a slow, warm certainty.
Not a slap.
Not a grab.
Just a firm, steady pressure full of meaning.
She pressed downward.
Not far—just enough for him to feel the shift, the direction, the intent.
Older women don’t guide a touch unless they’ve already weighed the consequences.
She had already decided she wanted him lower—needed him lower—and she wasn’t about to wait for him to figure it out on his own.
Her palm tightened slightly over his, fingers curving to cradle his knuckles.
She pressed again.
Slow.
Controlled.
Unmistakable.
His breath caught.
Hers didn’t—hers deepened, slow and heavy, as if each inhale carried permission she had denied herself for years.
The friction of his hand sliding down her skin made her hips shift subtly, instinctively.
Her body reacted before her mind could compose itself.
She tried to stay quiet, dignified, but the hunger she had buried beneath years of restraint was rising to the surface, inch by inch, with every downward press.
She guided him again—
her palm pressing firmer, urging his hand past the soft curve of her waist,
down to the place she always touches last when she’s alone.
Her breathing tightened.
Her thighs parted a hair’s width, enough for him to feel the warmth she could no longer hide.
Her fingers trembled against his skin, betraying the hunger her voice would never admit.
He paused for a moment—either in shock or in reverence.
That pause made her press harder.
She wasn’t asking.
She was telling him.
Older women hide their hunger behind poise.
Behind control.
Behind calm smiles and carefully measured gestures.
But not tonight.
Tonight her body betrayed her.
Her palm pressed into his hand like a confession she could no longer silence.
Her legs shifted, her hips tilted, her breath broke into something unsteady and vulnerable.
When his fingers finally reached where she had been guiding him,
she released the back of his hand slowly,
but not completely.
She wanted him to feel it—
the hunger she hides from the world,
the need she buries under independence and composure,
the truth she only reveals to the man who knows how to follow her lead.
And the warmth in her whispering breath said it all:
“There… right there… I’ve wanted this longer than you can imagine.”
