The lingering warmth of dinner had long since faded, yet neither Arthur nor Natalia made any move toward their rooms.
Instead, they remained anchored to the same plush sofa in the living room. The television hummed mindlessly in the background, casting flickering, kaleidoscopic shadows across the walls.
Under normal circumstances, Arthur would have actually been paying attention to the screen, but tonight, his focus was entirely derailed.
He was utterly, helplessly distracted by Natalia.
She sat close beside him, her fingers idly but deliberately entwining with his. Her thumb traced slow, rhythmic circles against the sensitive palm of his hand, a gesture so deceptively gentle it made his skin itch with a desperate, underlying heat.
This was pure torture.
Internally, Arthur groaned, seriously wishing she would stop being so excruciatingly controlled. The agonizingly slow pace was driving him out of his mind.
