The days blurred after that moment. Not from routine—but from intensity.
Every time Daniel walked into the studio, the air seemed to shift. It wasn't dramatic, just unmistakable. Like how the scent of rain creeps in before the first drop. Like static just before lightning.
Amelia had always thought desire was loud—urgent. But with Daniel, it was quiet. It lingered in the pauses, the glances, the way his shirt would ride up slightly when he stretched. In the way she'd notice her breath catching before she even picked up her pencil.
Today, she painted.
No sketches, no outlines—just color. Just feeling.
Daniel sat, the morning light catching along the curve of his neck, his back bare, the lines of his muscles catching soft shadows. He watched her as she worked—always watching.
But today, she couldn't hide in her canvas. Not when every stroke felt like a caress she wanted to give, not paint.
"I can feel your hesitation," he said gently, not moving. "It's in your brush."
She stepped back, frustrated. "It's not hesitation," she replied, voice tight. "It's restraint."
Daniel turned toward her slowly. "Then let go."
She blinked. Her pulse jumped.
And then—he stood. Walked toward her. Stopped just close enough that she could feel the heat of him but not the touch.
He reached for the brush in her hand, took it, and dipped it in deep crimson paint. Then, ever so softly, he brushed it across her collarbone.
She gasped.
His hand didn't shake. His eyes didn't blink.
"Art," he whispered, "should be felt."
He handed the brush back to her, red paint still wet against her skin.
Amelia stared at him, her breath uneven. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she dipped the brush again—this time in a deeper, darker shade. And this time, she touched him.
The brush traced down the line of his chest. Slowly. Intimately.
She felt his breath catch, the ripple beneath his skin.
Their eyes locked.
And in that silence, something shifted—no longer a game of glances or hidden hunger. But the beginning of something deeper. Wilder.
Fingers and fire. That's what it felt like.