When M. approached me, the air around us thickened, as if each breath became heavier, more charged. The music seemed to fade into the distance. Or perhaps it was I who had moved closer to her without realizing it. Her eyes… They weren't simply brown. They had a depth that grips you and holds you, as if forcing you to remain within her line of sight. She said nothing at first. But that silence spoke volumes. Her hand rested, very slowly, on my forearm. A light touch, almost innocent… except it wasn't. I could clearly feel that she was controlling every movement, every millimeter, like a predator testing its prey's reaction. Behind her, her husband watched. But it wasn't surveillance. It was something else… harder to define. He knew exactly what she was doing. And he wanted her to continue. “You seem tense,” M. whispered, her voice low, almost brushing against my skin. I couldn’t answer her. My throat was too tight. She moved even closer, so close I could feel the heat of her body without her actually touching me. And that was the worst part: she wasn’t touching me. She was simply grazing the space, exactly where my desire began. Her gaze flickered down to my mouth for a moment, then slowly rose again, as if she were savoring every detail of my face. I didn’t know if I was still breathing. “Do you want to come with me?” She didn’t need to ask. Her tone indicated she already knew the answer. But before I could move, her husband placed a firm hand on my shoulder. Not aggressive. Not possessive either. Just… grounded. As if to remind me ...

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