getting dressed

Sarah moved with practiced ease, the casual intimacy of someone in her own room, unaware of the eyes drinking her in.

She slid her arms into a blouse, the silky fabric whispering like secrets, drawing over her bare shoulders and half-covered breasts. Through the mirror, Tom watched the line of buttons rise, each one closing him out a little more, yet making the glimpse he still had of her skin all the more unbearable.

Her skirt followed, black and sleek, the zipper a hushed rasp that made Tom’s pulse spike. She shimmied slightly as she tugged it into place, the motion a hypnotic sway of hips that filled his vision. The hem fell against her thighs, brushing them like a lover’s touch.

Seated on the bed now, she leaned to slip her feet into pumps, her calf flexing, heel pointed, the delicate curve of her arch flashing for a second before disappearing into the leather. Tom could almost feel it, the smoothness of her skin, the warmth he’d once known in another life. His fists clenched, knuckles white in the dark closet.

Then she bent, reaching for an earring on the nightstand. The neckline of her blouse gaped open, revealing the pale swell of her breasts where lace still cupped them. Tom’s breath caught; his lips parted silently, his body frozen yet thrumming with violent energy.

Her perfume drifted across the room—sweet, floral, devastatingly her. It curled into the closet with him, wrapping around his senses, making the small space feel suffocating.

Tom's hand trembled as it finally slid down his own stomach, the restraint he had **** on himself breaking apart in the suffocating quiet of the closet. He squeezed himself hard through his jeans, biting back a groan.

Sarah paused suddenly. Her hand lingered above the nightstand, her head tilting. She straightened, smoothing her blouse down slowly, eyes flicking toward the door. Not the closet door—thank God—but close enough.

Tom held his breath until his lungs screamed.

She gave a faint shake of her head, muttering to herself, “Still jumpy. Robert wore me out last night.”

Her smile was soft, private, the kind she never showed in company. She lifted her necklace then, fastening the clasp with practiced fingers. The chain fell perfectly into the crease of her cleavage, gleaming in the bedroom light.

From the closet, Tom’s heart pounded. His body pressed to the slats, **** to drink in every last detail before she turned and left. The coin in his pocket was molten against his thigh, whispering temptations. He could almost hear it: Change this. Reach her. Make her yours.

But she was nearly dressed now, nearly gone. One step and she would leave the bedroom, glide downstairs, walk right out of his reach.