She told him to stay seated—then peeled off her layers one by one……see more

“Stay,” she said, her voice calm but firm, as he started to rise from the armchair. He froze, one hand on the armrest, and settled back, his pulse quickening. She stood in front of him, the lamp behind her casting her silhouette in gold, and began to undress—not 匆忙,but with the deliberate care of someone unwrapping a gift for an audience of one.​

First her sweater, pulled over her head in a slow arc, revealing a plain cotton tank underneath. Then her jeans, unzipped with a soft rasp, pushed down her thighs and stepped out of, leaving her in a pair of simple underwear. Each layer fell away like a chapter, and he sat, hands fisted in his lap, unable to look away. This wasn’t about hurry. It was about him—about making him watch, making him wait, making him feel the weight of each second.​

She paused, her fingers hovering over the hem of her tank, and met his gaze. “Comfortable?” she asked, and he nodded, though he wasn’t—not really. Comfort would mean looking away, pretending this wasn’t affecting him. But she didn’t want comfort. She wanted presence. When she finally pulled off the tank, her bare skin glowing in the light, he realized: being told to stay wasn’t a restriction. It was a privilege.