The tension in the room was palpable, and as her eyes met his, he knew exactly what was expected. Without her speaking another word, his hands instinctively reached for the zipper of her dress. He hesitated for a brief moment, caught in the magnetic pull of her gaze, but she didn’t look away.
“Go ahead,” she said simply. Her voice, even in its simplicity, was commanding. He moved to unzip her, his fingers trembling slightly as they touched the fabric. Each slow motion, each delicate pull, felt like an eternity. With every inch the zipper descended, he could feel his own pulse racing faster, his breath hitching.
It wasn’t just about undressing her. It was about understanding something far deeper—something much more profound. She didn’t need him to see her naked; she needed him to acknowledge that she was the one in control. Every movement was a lesson, every motion a reminder that this was her power, not his.
As the fabric fell away, revealing her skin, he understood the message. It wasn’t about what he could do for her. It was about what she was doing to him—how she was making him see things in a way he never had before. His hands were still trembling, but there was no question in his mind. She was the one guiding him, even when he thought he was the one taking charge.