She watches you watch him — that's the part that makes her arch. His tongue moves slow, deliberate, tracing the curve of her hip while her eyes stay locked on yours.

You sit close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. Every sound she makes lands somewhere behind your sternum, a pressure you can't name but won't look away from. She tastes like something you're not allowed to have.

The sweeter she gets, the more she pulls him deeper — and the more she smiles at you. Knowing. Patient. Completely in control of exactly how much this undoes you.