He turned toward the door with the intention of leaving—cleanly, politely, the way any gentleman would. The evening had been warm, full of quiet tension, but he convinced himself it was time to go before that tension melted into something neither of them had planned to acknowledge.
His fingers brushed the doorframe.
That was when he felt her.
Her arms slipped around him from behind—not tightly, not desperately.
Just… decisively.
He stopped mid-motion.
Her touch was warm, gentle, but it wrapped around his waist with enough certainty to stop him in his tracks. He closed his eyes, feeling the slow, deliberate exhale she released against his back. Her arms curved inward, palms resting lightly on his abdomen as if she had every right to hold him there.
He didn’t move.
He couldn’t.
Not when her arms tightened just slightly, drawing him a fraction of an inch closer—not enough to trap him, but enough to let him know she wasn’t letting him walk out of that room yet.
He gently placed his hand over hers, intending to peel her away.
But the moment his fingers touched her skin, she shifted.
Her hands slid upward, tracing the lines of his torso with quiet confidence, gliding over muscles she had pretended not to notice all night. Each inch her arms traveled held a different kind of message—soft, intimate, undeniably possessive in a way that made his pulse trip.
He felt her chin rest lightly against his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. She didn’t speak, but she didn’t have to—the way her arms curled tighter around him told him everything.
She wasn’t ready for him to leave.
And the truth was, neither was he.
Her hands pressed flat against his chest now, absorbing the rhythm of his breathing. She could feel how uneven it was, how her closeness had unraveled whatever resolve he had left. She slid her palms slowly downward, fingertips grazing the hem of his shirt, teasing him with a touch that was light but unwavering.
He turned slightly in her embrace, intending to face her, but she held him firmly—just enough to keep him right where she wanted him.
Her cheek brushed against the back of his neck, sending a shiver through him. Her arms tightened a little more, pulling him into the warmth of her body as if the idea of him stepping through that doorway was something she couldn’t allow—not tonight.
He exhaled sharply.
Her arms didn’t restrain him.
They surrounded him.
Claimed him.
Told him, without a single word, that the night wasn’t finished—not for her, and not for him.
And as her fingers slowly intertwined across his chest, he let go of the doorframe.
Not because he couldn’t leave.
But because her arms made staying feel inevitable.
