She's already decided how tonight ends — the question is whether you have the nerve to keep up. Fingers tracing the hem of something barely there, eyes locked on yours with that specific kind of patience that isn't patient at all.

The wet heat between her thighs says the small talk is over. She's shifted forward on the edge of the cushion, knees parting just enough to show you exactly what's been waiting since the appetizers.

Your move. Her pussy glistens with a frankness that makes your throat tighten — no performance, no teasing delay. Just a woman who asked a direct question and expects an answer you give with your hands.