You think that’s the end?

Sarah tilts her head at Alex's words, letting a small, enigmatic smile play on her lips. She lets her hand drift down to rest on the curve of her hip, the leather smooth beneath her palm.

"You think that's the end?" she says, her voice carrying a note of quiet challenge. "I've got one more. But this one... I'm only bringing out because you two have been so good to me this morning."

She turns without waiting for a response, the boots clicking against the floor as she pads back toward the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind her.

Inside, she moves to the dresser, her fingers brushing past the softer pieces until she finds what she's looking for — a scrap of pink fabric, barely more than a tube top, thin and stretchy. She pulls it on, the material clinging to her chest, the top edge dipping low enough that the curve of her areolas just peeks out from beneath the hem. She adds a black mini skirt that hugs her hips, and a pair of pink thigh-high socks that climb almost to the top of her thighs.

She looks at herself in the mirror. Her damp hair has dried into loose waves, falling around her bare shoulders. The outfit is delicate, almost innocent in color, but the effect is anything but. She takes a breath, runs a hand down her side, and opens the door.

When she steps back into the kitchen, the boots are gone — replaced by bare feet and pink socks that bunch slightly at her knees. She stands in the doorway for a moment, letting them take her in. Alex's coffee mug stops halfway to his mouth. His eyes go wide, then dark, and he doesn't blink for a long moment.

Sarah lets the silence hang, a slow, satisfied smile curving on her lips.

"Last one," she says, her voice soft and steady. "I figured we should end with something a little less... intimidating. But I think I might've miscalculated."

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