
It started with a brush of fingers.
An accidental touch, fleeting, innocent—at least, it should have been. But some touches linger, burning into skin, making the body crave what it shouldn't.
What should have been nothing became everything.
Every stolen glance became an invitation. Every "accident" became temptation. And when hands that were never supposed to wander finally claimed what they wanted, there was no turning back.
It was dangerous. It was wrong. It was a touch too much.
And neither of them wanted it to stop
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