The room was quiet, thick with anticipation. She stood by the edge of the bed, fingers lightly toying with the strand of pearls resting on her collarbone. He watched her, hands clenched at his sides, every nerve tuned to her rhythm.
She didn’t rush.
Each pearl slipped through her fingers as she unwound the necklace, slowly, like drawing tension out of the air. When it finally dropped into her palm, she let it slide from her hand onto the table with a soft clatter—a signal, not an afterthought.
Then she moved to him.
She didn’t undress completely. She didn’t need to. She simply climbed onto his lap, her legs folding on either side of him, her dress still covering more than it revealed—but her eyes? They showed everything.
He tried to reach for her, but she caught his wrists and pinned them to his thighs.
“Not yet,” she whispered.
And then… she moved.
Not fast. Not deep. Just a slow, circular grind of her hips—testing him. Testing how long he could sit there, feel her heat, her weight, her control—without breaking. She was riding his lap, yes—but more than that, she was riding his restraint. His patience.
And from the way she smiled…
She planned to make him wait a while longer.