Looking for a place to sit a bit..

She stands at the edge of the room, thumbs hooked into the waistband of her charcoal yoga pants, the fabric pulled tight across every curve like a second skin. The stretch material leaves absolutely nothing to interpretation — each line, each contour mapped in precise detail.

Your eyes trace the slow taper from her hips downward, following the seam as it disappears between her thighs. She tilts her weight to one side, a deliberate shift that draws the fabric even tighter, and you feel your breath catch somewhere between your chest and your throat.

She glances back over her shoulder at you — unhurried, unbothered — and raises one eyebrow. You suddenly realize you've been staring for a very long time.