Getting ready for bed

The bedroom lamp throws warm gold across her skin as she lingers at the mirror, fingers working loose the last few buttons of her blouse. She catches your eye in the reflection — unhurried, unbothered.

The fabric parts just enough. Soft curves press forward, shadowed at the center, and she makes no move to cover herself. This is deliberate. Every slow second of it.

She reaches up to pull her hair free and the blouse shifts, cleavage deepening with the movement. Bedtime, she says. Like it's a simple thing. Like you're not already completely fixed on what happens next.