(Lilac's POV)
Everything was falling into place.
I could feel it in the air, that electric tension between us. The wine had worked—his usual stoic, distant demeanor had softened, replaced by a man who was finally starting to show cracks in his armor. The man I had dreamed of, the one I had wanted for so long, was slipping closer to my reach with every passing second.
Tom was leaning back in his chair now, his eyes glassy from the wine, and I could see how tired he truly was. His shoulders slumped, his movements slower than usual. He hadn't said much in the last few minutes, his gaze wandering between me and his half-empty glass. The conversation had become sparse, but I could feel the energy shifting.
He cleared his throat, his voice a little rougher than usual. "I think it's about time I get to bed," he muttered, looking at the clock on the wall. It was late, but I wasn't ready to let him slip away just yet.
I stood up from the table, smoothing down my dress, and walked over to where he was sitting. His tired eyes met mine, but there was something more in them now—a flicker of uncertainty, of vulnerability.
"Let me help you," I offered softly, my voice low and smooth, laced with a hint of sweetness. "You've had a long night, Tom. I can help you to your room."
He blinked, looking at me for a moment longer than necessary, as if he were trying to decide whether he should protest or not. But after a long moment, he nodded. "I suppose I could use the help," he murmured, his voice thick with the effects of the wine.
My heart skipped a beat. Inside, I wanted to scream in victory, but I forced myself to remain calm, to keep my cool. This was just the next step in my plan, after all.
"Good," I said, my smile soft and gentle, trying to keep any excitement from showing. "You won't regret it, I promise."
I offered him my arm, and after a brief hesitation, he took it, allowing me to guide him to his feet. He was taller than me, much taller, but with the slight sway in his movements, I could feel the weight of his exhaustion in the way he leaned against me.
I held him close enough that he could feel the warmth of my body, but not so close that it would seem inappropriate. His breath was warm against my skin, and I could hear the faint hitch in his breathing as we made our way toward the stairs. Every step we took felt like it carried me closer to the moment I had been waiting for.
The silence between us was thick now, almost suffocating. I could feel the pulse of anticipation racing through my veins, but I kept my movements slow, controlled. I wanted him to feel safe with me, to feel like this was the natural progression, the next step in what was becoming an inevitable night.
When we reached the top of the stairs, Tom paused, swaying slightly. He let out a soft sigh, clearly struggling to keep his balance, and I moved to steady him. My fingers brushed against his chest as I placed my hand on his arm, and I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"You're alright," I murmured, my voice soft, almost soothing. "Just a little further."
He nodded, his eyes flickering down to meet mine. For a moment, I could see the hesitation in them—the inner struggle, the fight to maintain control. But it was so faint now, almost imperceptible. It was as if I could see through him, the walls he had built around himself slowly crumbling.
When we reached his room, I guided him inside, helping him sit on the edge of the bed. Tom exhaled slowly, his hand rubbing his temple. "I think I might just lie down for a bit," he said, his voice still thick with alcohol.
"Of course," I said gently, kneeling down in front of him, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'll make sure you're comfortable."
I moved to help him with his shoes, my hands brushing against his legs as I knelt at his feet. His skin was warm, and I could feel his muscles shifting beneath his trousers. The closeness of our bodies, the way our skin almost touched—each tiny detail sent a jolt of excitement coursing through me.
He shifted slightly on the bed, then let out a deep sigh, leaning back against the pillows. I stood up slowly, moving to adjust the blanket at the foot of the bed, letting my fingers trail along the soft fabric, as if I needed to steady myself before making my next move.
"This should be enough," I said softly, my voice trembling slightly as I moved back toward him. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and uncertain, but they no longer held that same guarded, distant look.
I reached for his pajama set on the chair beside the bed, my fingers brushing against the fabric, but I didn't put them on him. Instead, I turned back to Tom, my eyes soft, almost pleading, as I met his gaze.
"Do you need help getting undressed?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, knowing that this was the point where he would either allow me in completely or pull away.
He didn't respond right away, but I could see the shift in him—the conflict, the vulnerability. I could see that he was torn, that the grief and the alcohol were clouding his judgment. But there was something else in his eyes now too. There was a flicker of desire, a need that he was too afraid to acknowledge.
I stayed silent for a moment, watching him closely, letting the tension between us grow. This was it.
"Just… just stay with me for a while," he muttered softly, his voice cracking slightly.
Inside, my heart soared. My chest tightened with a mixture of relief and triumph. This was the moment I had been working toward. The vulnerability I had been waiting for, the crack in his walls that I could finally slip through.
I nodded, my breath catching in my throat. "Of course, Tom."
And in that moment, I silently celebrated. I had won.