Your fingers pull apart slick folds, putting everything on display — pink, swollen, glistening like something precious and profane at once.

The angle is deliberate, shameless. You want eyes exactly where they land, want the viewer to sit with the ache of not being able to touch what they're staring at.

And the answer to your question? You already know. The way you're posed, the wet gleam catching light — this isn't a question, it's a statement. A verdict. Irrefutable.