I'm totally wearing this dress correctly

You can't stop staring at the cleavage spilling out of that barely-there dress, worn in a way that makes the word "correctly" feel like a private joke between the two of you.

You notice how the fabric clings and shifts, threatening to give up entirely with the next breath she — with the next movement.

You feel the pull of it low in your stomach, that specific hunger that comes from something almost revealed, from a body that knows exactly how much to show and when to stop.