Eyes up here, pervert
She caught you before you even realized you were staring. That sharp, knowing look cuts straight through the screen — chin tilted, one brow lifted, daring you to hold her gaze for longer than a second.
You can't. Your eyes drop anyway, tracing the deep curve where her waist surrenders to those full, heavy hips. The fit of her jeans does nothing to hide what she's working with, fabric pulled tight across every generous inch.
She's already smirking. She knew exactly where you'd look, and she dressed this way on purpose — for you, and for the small, satisfying power of watching you fail the test.
