You’ve been testing boundaries for months — a slap on her shoulder, a teasing pinch when no one’s watching, a bold brush of your hand in public.
She’s been trying to stay composed, trying to ignore how much it affects her, but it’s impossible.
The tension between you is electric, and she’s learned to embrace it — even in public spaces, where it’s a private game played in plain sight.
The restaurant is busy, chatter buzzing, plates clattering.
You lean into her, hand brushing against her back just enough to make her shiver, and — playful, bold — you give her a slap on the arm.
She freezes, then smirks, low and dark. “You know exactly what that does to me, don’t you?”
she murmurs, voice almost too quiet for anyone else to hear.
You grin, leaning closer. “Maybe I do. Maybe I like it when you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
She swallows, trying to hide the effect it’s having on her, but her jaw tightens, and a shiver runs through her. “Careful, baby… this is a public place.”
You shrug, mischievous. “Doesn’t matter.”
She exhales sharply, trying to focus on her menu, when a woman from the next table leans over. “Hey, are you okay? Do you need help?”
She looks up — and the smirk is instant, dark, amused.
Her eyes glint with mischief.
“Help?” she cackles, low and sharp, leaning back in her chair like the question is the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “Oh, sweetheart… no. I’m exactly where I want to be.”