No music, no small talk, no sighs—just the quiet slide of fabric as she undressed, her eyes locked on his. First the blouse, unbuttoned one by one, her fingers steady, no hurry. Then the skirt, unzipped with a soft hum, pooling at her ankles. Then the bra, her back to the mirror, her hands moving behind her, the straps falling like whispers.
He tried to speak, to say something—beautiful, stop, please—but his throat felt tight, his words stuck. This wasn’t about seduction. It was about silence, the kind that swallows sound, the kind that makes every breath feel loud. She was baring herself, but not for his gaze. For hers—to watch the way his eyes widened, the way his mouth fell open, the way he forgot how to form words.
When she stood bare in front of him, her arms at her sides, he finally managed a croak, but it was unintelligible. She smiled, small, knowing, and stepped closer, her hand on his cheek. “Speechless?” she mouthed, and he nodded, because there was nothing left to say. Some moments are too big for words. She’d known that—and she’d made sure he learned it.