My sexy cleavage

Your eyes drop straight to the cleavage before anything else registers in your brain.

You feel the pull of it — that soft, shadowed line drawing you in like a question you already know the answer to. You want to trace it with your fingertip, slowly, watching the reaction it causes. You notice the way the fabric barely holds its position, a negotiation between covering and revealing that tilts decisively in your favor.

You could look away, but you won't. You let yourself stare, unashamed, because this was made exactly for that — for you, for this moment, for want.