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She would blame the cold night, because it has the power to awaken a desire for physical and emotional warmth.  She would blame the glass of red wine that she sipped between down-turned lips until she could no longer remember what exactly she had disapproved of. She would blame Jim for the party that a more sober version of herself would definitely find offensive in some fashion. She would blame him; the way he had been looking at her all night was more intoxicating then the alcohol. It couldn't be her fault. She had the power to resist anyone. She would not be seduced like some hussy, but when he had walked up to her and given her that look, her power diminished beneath stares and glistening lips and heavy bass and empty patios. He had started slow, attentive to her desires, but honestly, how dare he? How dare he let her fall for him, and then touch her so gently? She had shocked herself accidentally once before while pulling a cord out of an outlet. It was painful and quick. This sensation was comparable, but lingering and not exactly unpleasant. He had placed a hand gently on her waist, followed by the other, letting the toxic current shock her body, electrifying her senses. He had electrocuted her and then leaned in slowly, as if she had a say in the matter, as if to allow her the opportunity to pull away, but how could she, now that he had paralyzed her? She was definitely not going to be seduced by anyone, especially not Dwight Schrute, but seconds later, accusations vanished beneath warm lips and starry skies, and she sure as hell didn't pull away.

(No one was watching anyway, right?)


Chapter End Notes:
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dwangela is the author of 2 other stories.
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