new socks?

You notice the Indian beauty before anything else registers — bare legs disappearing into white ankle socks, the contrast almost unbearably deliberate.

You want to trace every inch of skin between the fabric and the curve of those thighs, your eyes refusing to move anywhere politely. You feel the pull low in your stomach, the kind that makes your breath come slower and your hands restless.

You already know the socks were never really the point — they were just the excuse to look, and now you cannot stop.