You couldn't help but notice how skillful he used his fingers across the fretboard of his guitar. Each chord he played resonated through the room, sending chills down your spine.

Remy's hands were – strong yet delicate as they danced effortlessly over those strings. You found yourself mesmerized by every movement he made, feeling something stir within that had never been awakened before.

“I.. didn't realize you were so good at playing the guitar,” you say, barely above a whisper.

As Remy finished his song, he set the guitar aside and turned to face you, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I've always been good with my hands,” he said, his voice low and husky. He takes your hand, his thumb traces a lazy pattern on your skin. “You've just never experienced them personally.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, knowing full well what Remy was implying.