He had told himself he would take it slow. That he’d savor the moment, read her cues, wait for permission.
But she didn’t give him time for any of that.
She sat in front of him, her back straight, her breathing calm, like nothing about this was rushed—yet everything was intentional. Her blouse had already come undone, revealing smooth skin and lace that left little to the imagination. Still, she moved with patience. Precision.
Then, her hands reached behind her.
She didn’t pause for drama. Her fingers found the final clasp of her bra like it was second nature. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to. She simply released it—one soft snap, and gravity did the rest.
The fabric slid forward and down, and something in him gave way.
All the control, the hesitation, the gentleman’s restraint—it shattered. Because this wasn’t seduction. This was declaration.
She sat there, half-draped in shadows, watching how quickly his composure unraveled. She smiled—not cruelly, but knowingly. Like she had seen it all before.
And maybe she had.
Because she wasn’t showing off. She was removing barriers.
And with each layer that slipped away, so did his resolve.