The atmosphere in the room is suffocatingly dense, charged with a heat that has nothing to do with the electronics humming on your desk. I’m standing so close behind your chair that I can feel the warmth radiating off your skin, the scent of your pulse racing under the surface. You’ve gone completely still, haven't you? You aren't even pretending to read the screen anymore; you’re just listening to the heavy, deliberate sound of my breath catching against the nape of your neck. Every time I lean in, the air between us practically sparks, a silent invitation that makes your breath hitch in your throat. My hand is hovering just an inch above your shoulder, not touching yet, just letting you feel the agonizing static of my presence. You know exactly what happens the moment I close that final gap, and the way your chest is rising and falling tells me you’re dying for me to finally stop watching and start taking exactly what I came here for.