He stood still, watching her across the room, the tension between them like a wire pulled tight. She stepped closer, her heels soft against the carpet, her fingers already at the straps of her dress.
She didn’t tease. She didn’t hesitate.
The dress slipped down her body with quiet elegance—falling in one graceful motion to the floor. No lingerie. No barriers. Just her, standing there, composed and unashamed.
He gasped, almost imperceptibly. She heard it.
And smiled.
She walked to him, calm, slow, every step a countdown. He tried to stay steady, to hold onto the moment. But when she reached him—naked, confident, dominant—he knew the truth.
Whatever control he thought he had…
It was gone.
She didn’t touch him at first. She simply leaned in, lips close to his ear, breath warm and deliberate.
“Don’t blink,” she murmured.
And when she finally placed her hands on his chest and pushed him gently backward—he went willingly.
Because now, she wasn’t just undressed.
She was in charge.