I glanced down carefully. It was Heather's hand. While she continued eating with her other hand and maintained a calm expression on her face, her fingers slowly began moving higher up my thigh beneath the cover of the tablecloth. The touch was deliberate, warm, and full of quiet meaning.
I looked sideways at her. Heather met my eyes for only a second, then returned her attention to her plate as if nothing was happening. But the silent look we shared was enough. We both understood each other completely.
Dinner was only the beginning. There would still be dessert later tonight, after everyone else eventually left us alone.
Around the table, Max and Michael kept talking, Maya and Asha continued eating quietly, and none of them noticed the slow, secret movement of Heather's hand under the table as she traced higher along my thigh.
The real hunger of the night was still waiting beneath the polite surface of the meal.
