Are you ready for me

She stands in the doorway, one hip tilted against the frame, dark eyes holding yours with a patience that feels like a dare. The silk slips off one shoulder without apology, catching the warm light across her collarbone.

Her fingers trace the fabric's edge — slow, deliberate — while her mouth curves into something that isn't quite a smile. She already knows your answer.

The question hangs between you, charged and specific. Every detail of her — the kohl lining her gaze, the gold at her wrist — arranged precisely for this moment, for you, for right now.