"She was made of burning light, and he was always just close enough to feel the heat."
— Anaïs Nin
~~~~~~~~
The ride through the city moved slow, deliberate. Streetlights spilled gold across the windshield, casting moving shadows along Zaya's legs. She sat with one hand resting lightly on her thigh, the other pressed to her chest, fingertips grazing her collarbone through the fabric of her dress. Her breath stayed even, but inside, her body was still processing, still replaying the way Cael's fingers had moved against her skin.
He didn't speak. Neither did she. Not because there was nothing to say, but because the space between them felt full.
He drove like he lived, without hesitation, without excess. His left hand controlled the wheel, long fingers flexing with each shift. His other hand rested near the console, close but not too close to her own. The silence between them felt like part of the architecture. Built, not fallen into.
When they reached her building, the car rolled to a gentle stop.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Zaya unclipped her seatbelt and glanced at him, but his eyes were already on the street. Then he opened his door, walked around the front of the car, and opened hers. His movements had the same focus as his voice: measured, confident, never trying to impress.
She stepped out onto the sidewalk, the night air wrapping around her bare shoulders. The breeze caught the edge of her dress, lifting it against her thigh. He didn't comment. He watched her like he always did: direct, composed, present.
They stood under the halo of a streetlamp. The quiet hum of the city moved around them, distant and low, like it was giving them this one moment undisturbed.
He took a step closer, then reached up and touched a strand of her hair.
His fingers didn't rush. They found the lock near her collarbone and lifted it gently. He ran it between his fingers once, then brushed it back behind her ear. The gesture was so light it almost didn't register, except it landed deeper than anything more obvious ever could.
He leaned in, and for the second time that night, she felt his breath near her skin.
~ Cael: "Goodnight, Zaya."
His voice didn't drop for effect. It was simply lower because of how close he was. A whisper, meant only for her.
She didn't respond with words. Her eyes lifted to his, and she held his gaze for one long second. She gave a small nod, and with it, everything else he didn't ask for.
Then he stepped back and walked to the car.
She turned toward her door. Her hand found the key before she could overthink it. The lock clicked, the door opened, and the moment passed like a page being turned.
Inside, the air felt warmer than usual. She set her bag down carefully, then kicked off her heels and stood still for a few seconds. The silence wasn't oppressive, it was rich, like a room where something had just happened, and the walls still remembered it.
She stepped into her bedroom and turned on the small lamp by the mirror. The glow softened the edges of her reflection. Her dress still clung to her, a little wrinkled from the car ride. She reached behind her back and unzipped it, then let it fall to the floor.
The lingerie she'd chosen that evening hadn't been an accident: Black lace. Soft straps. A bra that shaped without lifting, and panties that sat low across her hips, just delicate enough to feel intentional.
She had worn it wondering. Not assuming, not hoping, just wondering if tonight would ask more of her.
Now she looked at herself in it, and felt no regret.
The lace framed her skin with quiet confidence. No one had touched it. But it had mattered anyway.
She didn't take it off. Instead, she pulled a soft t-shirt over her head, one that clung to her shoulders and left the lace peeking at the edges. Then she stepped into cotton shorts and padded barefoot to the edge of her bed.
The room was quiet, but her body wasn't. She still felt where his hand had been. The back of her neck pulsed gently, like his fingers had left a memory there. Her ear tingled with the echo of his touch. It wasn't arousal, not anymore. It was attention, pulled tight and still humming beneath her skin.
She reached for her sketchbook, flipped past the older pages, and stopped on a fresh sheet.
She began to draw slowly. No faces. No posture. Just sensation.
She started with the curve of a hand, the shape of his palm, the arch of his fingers. She drew the line of a jaw, just enough to suggest where the touch had landed. She shaded the hollow just beneath the ear, and pressed deeper into the paper when her pencil hit the space where his thumb had lingered.
She didn't need to check her reference. The feeling was still there.
Her other hand rested in her lap, fingers spread, muscles loose. She breathed through each stroke of the pencil, letting the moment replay, not as an image, but as a rhythm.
She added the angle of a shoulder, slightly tensed. A collarbone shifting under breath. Nothing obvious. Nothing performed. Just the posture of a body reacting to touch.
She stared at the drawing when she finished. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't even complete. But it held something real.
She reached for the corner of the page and wrote a single word beneath it in faint pencil:
"Marked."
Then she leaned back against the headboard and closed her eyes, not to sleep, but to remember all over again.
🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹
🥀 💥 ❤️🔥 🥀
v𝖊𝘭v𝖊𝘵 𝚙𝔯𝖊𝓼𝓼𝗎𝔯𝖊
🥀 💥 ❤️🔥 🥀
🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹
The drawing was still open on Zaya's lap when her phone buzzed beside her. The sound was low, but in the quiet of the room, it felt louder than it should. She reached for it without urgency, thumb brushing across the screen.
Cael: Are your neck and ear still warm?
Her lips parted, the corners twitching with something she didn't let become a smile. She stared at the message for a long second, then typed slowly.
Zaya: I drew them before I answered you.
Cael:Did I get the shape right?
Zaya:Too right. I had to stop halfway through just to breathe.
Cael: I've been thinking about how you felt beneath my fingers.
Her pulse jumped.
She curled her legs beneath her, shifting so the lace of her lingerie brushed against her skin again. She felt suddenly aware of every place he hadn't touched, and how her body was still asking him to.
Her thumbs hovered over the screen, then typed.
Zaya: How are you always so composed? So calm? You touch me like you're watching it happen from somewhere else. Like you don't feel it at all.
His reply came slower this time. One line.
Cael: You have no idea what you're doing to me.
She read it twice. Then the next message came.
Cael: You want honesty? The second you leaned in, I wanted to pull you into my lap and take your lips. I wanted to lift your dress, tear those lace things off you, and press you against the glass so the night could watch.
Her breath stopped halfway through her chest.
Another message followed, slower, more precise.
Cael: But what would be the point? A body like yours should be unwrapped slowly. A woman like you deserves to be memorized, not rushed.
Zaya stared at the screen. Her fingers tingled. She pressed her thighs together, not out of desperation, but to feel something, to ground the heat that was curling through her belly.
She exhaled through her nose.
Zaya: So you're holding back?
Cael:I'm savoring.
Zaya: You make it sound noble.
Cael:I don't want one night. I want you to unravel for me. Over time. Over days. I want to know what sound you make when you can't hold your breath anymore.
Her hand trembled slightly as she set the phone down beside her. Not to end the conversation, but to feel her own skin again.
The lace beneath her t-shirt clung a little tighter now. Her nipples pressed gently against the fabric. Her stomach was tense with something that wasn't fear or nerves, but pure, sharpened want.
She looked at the drawing again. Her own collarbone, his hand just barely grazing it.
It wasn't a sketch anymore. It was evidence.
The phone buzzed again.
Cael:You still there?
She picked it up and typed slower this time, choosing each word carefully.
Zaya: Yes. Still drawing. Still warm. Still thinking about your hand.
Another pause.
Cael:I won't touch you again until you ask me to.
Her throat tightened.
Zaya: What if I'm asking now?
The typing indicator blinked, then stopped. Then started again.
Cael: Then I'll wait for you to say it to my face.
She read that last line again and again.
She didn't reply.
She turned off the light, slid beneath the covers, and let her body pulse with everything he hadn't done yet.
The lace stayed on.