It was an unplanned movement, or at least it looked like one. She leaned back on her elbows, shifting her weight so the mattress dipped beneath her. The motion made her skirt slide higher, the fabric giving way under gravity’s pull. It wasn’t a dramatic reveal—no sudden flash of skin—but the subtlety was worse. It forced him to notice the way the folds parted just enough to draw the eye.
He froze mid-sentence. She caught it instantly, the way his gaze flickered downward before snapping back to her face. She didn’t comment. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, as if she were listening more closely to him—though her body language said she was perfectly aware of the silent game now in play.
Her knees bent slightly, one leg shifting over the other in a slow, absent-minded cross. That movement alone was enough to pull the skirt apart another fraction, revealing a hint more skin, a pale strip in the dim light. He felt his throat tighten.
The most dangerous thing was how comfortable she looked—like she hadn’t noticed the reveal at all. But he knew she had. The way she rested back, the way her hands sank into the bedding at her sides, keeping her elbows braced—it all kept her posture open, the skirt’s fall uncorrected.
And so he paused—not because he didn’t know what to do next, but because he suddenly knew exactly what she wanted him to see… and what she wanted him to wonder about.