He had barely sat down before she appeared in the doorway—wearing nothing but a satin robe and an expression that didn’t ask for attention, but expected it. The lighting caught her just right, outlining the curve of her figure beneath the loosely tied fabric.
He opened his mouth to speak—but stopped. Her look told him not to.
She walked slowly, deliberately, letting the hush of fabric brushing against her legs fill the silence between them. When she reached him, she didn’t say a word. Just untied the knot at her waist.
The robe fell.
Effortless. Final.
He blinked. Her body wasn’t young—but it was unapologetic. Soft in all the ways that invited touch, confident in the ways that didn’t need validation.
She straddled him before he could move, sinking into his lap with practiced ease. Her hands didn’t grope or grab—they guided, her hips settling into place like she knew exactly where he was supposed to be.
He gasped—not from pain, not from surprise—but from surrender. From the realization that she hadn’t asked permission because she never needed it.
And now that she had him right where she wanted—she wasn’t going anywhere.