She catches you staring and doesn't look away. The fabric pulls tight across every curve, leaving absolutely nothing to your imagination — and she knows it, tilting her hip just slightly to make sure you get the full picture.

Your eyes trace the line from her waist downward, that slow deliberate path you can't stop yourself from taking. The material is thin, stretched, warm-looking in a way that makes your hands feel restless.

She asked if you wanted a piece of this. You both already know the answer sitting heavy in your chest, your throat, somewhere lower than that.