Touch Me Without Asking

Spark Of Jealousy

Elara arrived at the office that morning with her usual mix of anticipation and apprehension. After the charged night with Adrian, she had expected a hint of leniency, a subtle softness in his tone, something to remind her that the private intimacy between them hadn’t dissolved into mere professionalism. But as she stepped into the sleek, glass-walled conference room, she immediately saw that he was unchanged. Calm, precise, controlled. Every movement measured. Every glance deliberate.

And then there was Livia.

She was already there, setting up her laptop with a neat stack of papers beside her. Professional, confident, radiating competence in every gesture. Elara’s chest tightened almost instantly. Livia wasn’t just another colleague; she was the embodiment of everything Adrian noticed, appreciated, and perhaps even admired professionally. The casual confidence, the ease with which she navigated the room, her subtle laugh at something on her screen, it all pricked at Elara’s nerves like tiny, invisible needles.

Adrian didn’t waste time. “Good morning,” he said, voice smooth and even, eyes briefly flicking between the two of them. “Let’s review the client’s revisions before the meeting.”

Elara nodded, setting her notebook in front of her. Her fingers itched for control, for precision, for the ability to manage the tension building inside her chest. But every time Livia spoke, referenced a detail, or leaned slightly closer to Adrian to clarify a point, a subtle churn of jealousy tightened her stomach. She caught herself leaning forward subtly, as if to reclaim space, to assert presence.

Livia’s professionalism was impeccable. She made concise points, responded intelligently to Adrian’s questions, and even anticipated follow-ups. Every time Adrian nodded or offered a quiet, approving remark, Elara felt her pulse spike. The subtle tilt of his head, the faint curve of his lips, the way he briefly let his attention linger, just long enough for her to feel it, made her stomach knot in tension. She hated it. She hated herself for feeling this way.

When Livia referenced a statistic Elara had overlooked, Adrian’s acknowledgment was slight, a nod, a soft, “Good point,” but the weight of it felt enormous. Elara felt a tightness in her chest, a mixture of frustration and an almost unacknowledged longing. She couldn’t articulate it, couldn’t allow herself to. Professionally, she had to maintain composure, hide the fluttering of her pulse, the way her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the page.

The meeting continued, every exchange a careful negotiation. Elara responded to each question with her usual clarity, but her eyes constantly flicked toward Adrian. She wanted his approval, his recognition, his subtle acknowledgment that she still held importance in his attention, even if it was only professional. Livia’s presence amplified every doubt, every pang of possessiveness she hadn’t admitted even to herself.

At one point, Adrian leaned forward, resting an elbow lightly on the conference table, eyes locking on Elara’s for a brief moment. That flicker of awareness made her stomach twist. She forced herself to look away, to jot notes, to appear absorbed in the charts and data before her. Her mind was spinning, every calculation, every figure, every subtle movement of the people in the room layered with unspoken tension. She wanted to snap at herself for feeling this way, for letting desire and jealousy seep into her professional performance, yet she couldn’t. The awareness that he was so effortlessly calm while her emotions raced frustrated her almost more than it excited her.

By the end of the session, Livia had packed up her materials, smiling politely at both of them. “Thank you,” she said, voice smooth and warm. “I’ll follow up with the updated notes by this afternoon.” Adrian nodded once, acknowledging her. Elara felt a pang, a sting of exclusion, of subtle displacement, before she could suppress it. Livia left, closing the door behind her, and immediately the atmosphere shifted.

Adrian finally turned to her, expression as unreadable as ever. “You were distracted,” he said calmly, voice soft but carrying weight. “Is there a reason?”

Elara’s chest tightened. She wanted to deny it, to rationalize that she hadn’t been affected at all. But the truth simmered just beneath her composure. “No,” she said, tone clipped, trying to steady her voice. “I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, not in accusation, but in measured observation. “You’re lying to yourself,” he murmured. The statement wasn’t harsh, but it landed. Precisely.

Elara bit back a retort, forcing herself to nod, to regain the professional posture she knew she had to maintain. But inside, the storm of emotions, jealousy, longing, frustration, and the undeniable thrill of knowing how carefully he had watched her, coiled tight, leaving her chest warm, pulse quickened.

As she left the office, stepping into the hum of city traffic, she replayed the session over and over. Each moment with Livia, each subtle nod of approval from Adrian, the way his eyes had lingered on her afterward, they all tangled in her mind. She tried to rationalize, to reason, to convince herself that this was about professionalism, about attention to work. Yet deep down, she knew the truth. She hated it, hated herself for feeling it, and yet she could not deny the intensity of how much she wanted his exclusive attention.

By the time she reached her apartment, the late afternoon sun filtering softly through the windows, Elara realized something that both frightened and exhilarated her. The power dynamic between her and Adrian had deepened. The jealousy she had felt, the emotional turbulence, wasn’t a fleeting reaction. It was a mirror of her own investment. And that investment, though she refused to admit it fully, was beginning to shape her, pulling her deeper into the unspoken, intoxicating game between them.