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16 stories found
The residue on the glass wasn't condensation; it was the shimmering, oily remains of a projection he'd left behind for me to find.
Elara felt the vibration of his intent before he even spoke, a low-frequency hum that settled deep in her marrow.
He watched the way the compression fabric of her leggings fought against the curve of her hip, a silent, high-tension drama.
The train took a curve near Bridgeport, and her knee didn't just brush mine; it lingered there, heavy and deliberate, a silent thesis statement.
The rain is a rhythmic pounding against the glass but inside the only sound is the wet, heavy sliding of skin on skin.
!["I'm Not Sure Which Part of You Is the Ocean"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"i'm-not-sure-which-part-of-you-is-the-ocean"-679-cover-1778515265468.jpg)
My psoas muscle, usually a tight knot of professional composure, simply dissolved the moment his saltwater-slicked hand found the small of my back.
I watched the way the track lighting caught the sweat on the small of your back while you arched for her, a composition more honest than anything hanging on those sterile white walls.
!["You Always Did Have an Eye for a Bad Investment"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"you-always-did-have-an-eye-for-a-bad-investment"-811-cover-1778371252706.jpg)
The silk of her slip dress felt like a liability, a thin barrier between her professional reputation and the heat radiating off Julian's chest.
The condensation on your glass has left a perfect, fleeting ring on the white marble of the bar, a temporary zero.
I watched the flour settle in the fine hairs of your forearms, a dusting of white against skin the color of toasted cedar.
!["I Didn't Think You Had This Much Fight In You"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"i-didn't-think-you-had-this-much-fight-in-you"-563-cover-1777968060381.jpg)
The condensation on my water glass is the only thing moving in this room, a slow, gravity-fed tear tracing through the dust.
Her breath smelled like the eighty-dollar Pinot they were pouring downstairs, and her hand was already unzipping my fly with a reporter’s efficiency.