That look alone could undo me.
“I guess I do,” she said, barely above a whisper.
I stepped closer — not touching her yet, but close enough to feel the heat coming off her, warm and fragile anddangerousin all the ways I couldn’t resist anymore.
“It’s just buttons,” she added, voice trembling — but there was that spark in her eyes. The one that said sheknewthis wasn’t just about buttons.
“Just buttons,” I repeated, even though we both heard the lie in it. My fingers found the top one, brushing the fluttering pulse at her throat. She sucked in a breath.
One button undone.
Then another.
Slow. A question between each one.
Her chest rose and fell — unsteady, hopeful, catching on every moment of hesitation and wanting.
“Is this okay?” I murmured, letting my knuckles drift lightly down the collar of her shirt, barely grazing the swell of her breast, pausing for an answer.
She nodded — but didn’tjustnod.
She stepped into me. Let her forehead brush my jaw. Placed her hands lightly at my waist — she’d say stop if she needed to, but right now, she didn’t intend to.
“It’s more than okay,” she breathed.
So I kept going.
Not because I wasincontrol — but because she was giving the control to me.
The last button came undone, and for a moment we just stood there, suspended in the quiet heat of a bathroom lit by flickering candlelight and steam off the still water, pretending the world outside didn’t exist.
It was almost awkward — in the way that new yearning always is. The flannel slipped off her shoulders as though it had been waiting for that moment all along, pooling around her arms where my fingers guided it.
Her breath hitched — but she didn’t move away.
Didn’t hide herself.
Didn’t pretend she wasn’t trembling a little.
I didn’t pretend I wasn’t, either.
Something about her, standing here like this, chest completely bare to me, was more seductive than any silk or lingerie could have been. It was vulnerability wrapped in my own damn clothes.
It was strange, really — how quiet it was in the room. Like the world had held its breath and given us this one bubble of time, we were both too afraid to break.
I pulled the shirt from her arms, letting it fall to the floor. Didn’t dare look her directly in the eyes yet.
I didn’t want to startle the moment. Or ruin it with anything too loud.
Her hands found the edge of my thermal shirt then, twisting in it as though she didn’t quite know what to do with herself, but didn’t want to be still anymore.
“Your turn,” she whispered, her voice hardly more than a flutter.
I pulled it over my head in one slow motion, watching her watching me.
Then the two of us… just stood there.
Half-dressed.
