That sight alone was seductive—almost obscene in how effortlessly simple it was. There was no grand gesture behind it, no deliberate attempt to make it dramatic, and yet that was exactly what made it so dangerous. It didn't try to overwhelm me. It didn't need to. It just existed, bare and honest, and that honesty dug straight under my skin. My eyes lingered longer than they should have, my mind already spiraling before I could stop it.
But more than the sight itself, it was the way she looked at me while doing it that truly broke me. Her gaze didn't waver. It didn't flick away in embarrassment or soften with uncertainty. It stayed right on me, steady and open, filled with an unmistakable invitation. There was desire there. It was raw, unfiltered, and unashamed. It wasn't playful teasing or half-hearted seduction. It was intent. It was the kind of look that made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing to me and didn't feel the slightest bit sorry for it.
