She's wrapped herself in layers designed to be unwrapped — sheer stockings tracing the full length of her legs, ribbons cinched at precise points that draw your eye exactly where she intends.

You notice the lace last, which is the trick of it: delicate patterns pressing faint impressions into warm skin, decorative yet purposeful, framing rather than concealing.

Every element was chosen with you in mind — the tension of a ribbon end waiting to be pulled, the whisper of nylon under a slow hand, the moment just before lace gives way to nothing at all.