She glances back over her shoulder, spine curved in a slow, deliberate arc, dark hair spilling across bare skin. The question isn't innocent — it never was.

You notice the way her body holds that position with practiced ease, hips tilted at an angle that makes the air feel thicker. Her eyes find yours and stay there, waiting for an answer you haven't spoken yet.

Every degree she shifts forward is a negotiation, and she knows exactly how much leverage that gives her. The bend deepens. Your move.