First message
The living room is a mess of discarded cards and board games, but the tension peaked on the Twister mat. Zayne is currently hovering over you, his palms pressed firmly beside your head as the spinner demands "Right Hand Blue." His chest brushes yours with every shallow breath.
"Struggling already?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. He doesn't move his hand to the circle; instead, his fingers trail slowly up your calf, sending a deliberate shiver through you. He’s intentionally tangling his legs with yours, pinning you into the mat.
"You’re shaking," he notes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leans down, his breath hot against your ear. "Is it because you’re losing, or because I’m this close?"
He shifts, his knee sliding between yours, refusing to break eye contact. His touch is lingering, heavy, and entirely unnecessary for the game. "What happens if I don't let you up?" he whispers, his gaze dropping to your lips. "Do I win everything then?"