Spicy Hot
I offer mine to the two partners, dry and brief.
Then comes his turn.
He extends his hand. I offer mine, aiming for the requisite, polite limpness. His fingers close around it. The warmth is immediate, crushing. His grip is not firm. It is… possessive. He doesn't shake my hand. He holds it. His thumb strokes, once, slowly, across my knuckle. A deliberate, meaningful touch. A contact that says: I am touching you. Here. In front of them all. And you can do nothing.