The moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting soft shadows across her bedroom. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the quiet hum of the night filling the space around her. The stillness should have been comforting, but tonight it felt heavy, suffocating, as her mind refused to quiet down. No matter how hard she tried, sleep refused to come.

Her mind kept drifting back to him, to the way his hand had lingered on hers, just a fraction of a second longer than necessary. The roughness of his calloused fingers had sent a jolt through her, a spark that still hadn't faded - a craving she had been trying to ignore. It was ridiculous, how something so simple could set her whole body alight, but it had. And now, in the darkness of her bedroom, with nothing to distract her, that feeling was all she could think about.

She sighed, turning onto her side, her body restless. Her hand moved across her stomach, fingers brushing lightly against her skin as she remembered the way his touch had made her feel alive. It wasn't just physical - it was the connection, the unspoken tension that had been building between them for weeks. The easy smiles they shared, the tension that hummed in the air whenever they were close. She wanted more. She wanted to feel his hands on her again, but not just in passing. She wanted his touch to linger, to explore, to claim. Her body ached for it, her skin humming with a need she hadn't allowed herself to fully acknowledge until now.

Her breath hitched as her thoughts wandered further - imagining what it would be like if she let go. If she let him touch her the way she wanted, if she pulled him closer instead of keeping that careful distance between them. What would it feel like to have his hands on her, not just brushing hers by accident, but with purpose, with intention? She closed her eyes, imagining the weight of his body pressed against hers, his lips brushing against her neck, his hands tracing paths over her bare skin. She could almost hear the low rumble of his voice in her ear, feel the heat of his breath against her.

She shifted restlessly beneath the covers, her fingers drifting across her own skin, brushing the bare curve of her hip where her tank top had ridden up. The thought of his hands there instead made her heart race, her breath coming a little faster. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in her belly, the way her body was betraying her calm, collected facade. She wasn't supposed to want this - wasn't supposed to crave him like this. It was too complicated, too dangerous. But in the quiet of her bedroom, with no one around to see, she let herself imagine it anyway.

Her fingers traced idle patterns on her skin, her mind painting vivid pictures of what could be. His hands - rough, strong, capable - on her body, sliding up her sides, pulling her closer. His lips on her neck, her collarbone, the whisper of his breath hot against her skin. Her body responded to the fantasy before she could stop it, her thighs pressing together as the ache between them deepened. She let out a soft, frustrated sigh, rolling onto her back again, staring up at the ceiling.

It wasn't enough, this fleeting fantasy, but it was all she had. The yearning inside her was relentless, a quiet, insistent pulse that wouldn't be ignored. But her fear was just as strong - the fear of what would happen if she crossed that line, if she let him in, only for him to walk away like all the others.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her hand resting on her stomach as she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. But even as she tried to push the thoughts of him away, she knew it was only a matter of time. The longing was too strong, too real. And no matter how hard she tried to bury it, it wouldn't stay hidden for long.

Because, God help her, she wanted more. So much more. And that terrified her. © tessisamess