They were alone, finally. The air between them still carried the laughter from earlier, but now the mood had shifted. She leaned back against the doorframe, one arm crossed loosely under her chest. He was talking about something—something casual—but she had stopped listening.
Instead, she reached up and adjusted the top of her blouse. But not the way women usually do it.
It wasn’t to straighten anything. It wasn’t to hide. It was… the opposite.
Her fingers tugged at the fabric just enough to loosen the neckline, pulling the material wider across her collarbone, exposing the soft dip just above her chest. A simple gesture—subtle, quiet—but he felt it like thunder.
He paused mid-sentence.
She smiled, faint and unreadable. Her thumb brushed the edge of her bra strap, just visible now, as if by accident—but nothing about her felt accidental. She knew exactly how far to go. How far not to.
He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. The room suddenly felt warmer, the silence thicker.
She adjusted the blouse once more, slower this time. Still no words. Just the soft rustle of fabric and the heavy rhythm of his breath.
It wasn’t about what she showed—it was about what she might show next.
And she knew… he’d wait to find out.