Tan lines on her inner thighs from that same striped tie wrapped around her waist last night. She didn’t hear him walk in—just the creak of the floorboards as he leaned against the doorframe. Lips still wet from where she bit them earlier, now parted as she reaches for something under the pillow. The mattress dips when she finally looks up and grins, knowing exactly what he’s been watching through that crack in the door all week. No warning. No shame. Just a slow crawl toward him on hands and knees while those full hips sway like they own this moment—and maybe they do.
