Nina's hands moved deftly over the ingredients, her mind split between the task and the presence of Petne beside her. His closeness, the occasional brush of his arm or his steady breath, was enough to make her pulse quicken. He had been guiding her patiently, offering small insights into the process when needed, slipping in the odd comment that, more often than not, brought a reluctant smile to her face.
"You're too tense, Nina," Petne murmured, stepping closer to stand behind her. His hands covered hers, guiding the motion of her grinding, the warmth of his body lightly pressing against her back.
"It's like stirring soup—gotta feel the flow. Ever tried forcing soup?" He chuckled, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. "Let it flow naturally."
The contact was brief, but enough to send a rush of warmth through her. She nodded, though her focus wavered.
