Denise opened the closet and declined the offerings hanging there. Instead, she went into the box... a box with sexy things. Sexy costumes, thigh-high boots, fishnet body stockings. Compared to some of the outrageous things in the box, the items she pulled out were tame. The voile blouse was familiar to Gabriel. She had once teased him about how the fabric felt like a gossamer. She noted that being touched through it felt like being touched on her bare skin. She admired how not just her nipple, but every bump of her aureola showed through the wispy material, while at the same time, the boxy shape almost made it look like she was not trying to look sexy. The "skirt" was a bathing suit cover-up. Made of a sporty lycra blend, it was completely plain except for two seams and a hidden elastic waist. It clung to her in a way that revealed more than it hid. She made a mental note that while she had worn it dozens of times, she had never worn underwear with it. In another mental note, she considered that the skirt was pure honey, and every man who saw it was a bee.
She let the skirt settle on her hips, smoothing it down with her palms. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, stretching over the curve of her ass, barely long enough to brush the tops of her thighs. She turned to the side, examining herself in the mirror. Not too much. Not obvious. But absolutely deliberate.
The blouse was different. The voile draped over her torso like a whisper, teasing rather than concealing. She ran her fingers over the fabric, tracing the outline of her nipple through the diaphanous weave. Would he notice? Of course, he would. Would he look? He wouldn't be able to help himself.
Her heart thumped with excitement. Gabriel always noticed. He just didn't always say it. That was part of the game. She could feel his hunger in the way his eyes lingered, in the way his jaw tightened when she flirted in front of him. He wanted to believe she was innocent. He wanted to pretend she wasn't testing limits.
She smiled at herself, slow and knowing. She was good at this. She always had been. It wasn't about luck--it was about purposefulness. Every choice mattered. Every detail counted. She prided herself on it.
She pulled her hair to one side and studied herself again. Casual. Effortless. A masterpiece of intention disguised as coincidence.
Her pulse quickened as she imagined the night ahead. The tension. The power. The way a man's resolve could melt away with the right look, the right shift of her body. She knew how to create temptation--how to make it feel inevitable.
As she turned away from the mirror, the voice in her head wasn't small anymore. It was clear. Confident.
You know exactly what you're doing.
She smiled. And that's exactly the way she wanted it.
Denise heard the front door open, followed by the familiar sound of Gabriel's footsteps. Right on time.
She didn't turn immediately. Let him look first. Let him take in the way the skirt hugged her hips, the way the sheer fabric of her blouse shifted with each breath. Let him hesitate. Let him wonder if he was imagining things.
She reached for her glass of wine on the counter, tilting her head slightly as she took a sip. A subtle move--one that stretched her body just enough to make the voile shift, to let the light catch the curve of her breast.
Then, she turned.
Gabriel was standing just inside the doorway, his face carefully neutral, but his eyes--his eyes gave him away. They flicked, just for a second, to where the fabric did nothing to hide the hard peak of her nipple. Then they snapped back up, like a man trying to convince himself he hadn't looked.
Denise smiled. Perfect.
"Hey, babe," she said, casual, effortless. As if she didn't notice the heat creeping up his neck. As if she hadn't planned this. As if she didn't feel a rush of satisfaction knowing she could make him shift his weight like that, suddenly unsure of himself.
She leaned against the counter, tilting her hips just so. "You're late," she teased.
"I--yeah. Traffic," he said, voice slightly hoarse. He set down his keys, glancing toward the tablet propped up on the table, as if remembering why he was here in the first place. "Game started yet?"
She almost laughed. Adorable.
"Just kickoff," she said, gesturing lazily to the screen. But she didn't look away from him. She let the silence stretch just long enough for him to notice--really notice--how close they were, how warm the room felt, how much she was letting him see.
She could feel it already, the shift in the air. That slow, delicious tension curling between them, winding tighter with every stolen glance, every unspoken thought.
Denise lifted her glass again, taking another sip before setting it down with deliberate care. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she reached for Gabriel's shirt, smoothing the fabric over his chest, lingering just a second too long.
"There," she murmured, fingers barely brushing his collarbone. "Now you're ready."
His breath hitched.
Yes. This was exactly the way she wanted it.
Denise picked up the iPad, cradling it lightly in her hands. The screen's glow cast soft shadows on her skin, highlighting the delicate outline of her collarbone beneath the sheer fabric.
The living room was cold and dark, an afterthought of a space. The couch--firm, impersonal. The single lamp cast a weak, unimpressive glow. Not intimate. Not inviting.
The bedroom, though--that was different. Warm. Softly lit. The pillows plumped against the headboard, the throw blanket arranged just so, as if by accident. A nest. A place to sink in. A place where boundaries blurred.
She turned to Gabriel, tilting her head just slightly, letting her hair fall over one shoulder. "Where shall we sit to watch the game?" Her voice was light, almost teasing, wrapped in the pretense of innocence.
She saw it, the flicker in his eyes. He knew what she was offering. Knew what it would mean to sit together in that space.
For a moment, he hesitated, his jaw tightening like it always did when he was deciding whether to follow her lead--or resist. Poor thing. He never really stood a chance.
Denise smiled, shifting her weight onto one leg, causing the hem of her skirt to ride just a bit higher. Just enough.
"I mean," she continued, letting the words hang between them, "it's so much warmer in the bedroom."
A slow sip of wine. A barely-there smirk. Your move, Gabriel.
Denise reached for Gabriel's jacket as he stepped further into the apartment, her fingers brushing his shoulders as she slid the fabric down his arms. A simple act of care. A hostess making her guest comfortable. That's what it looked like. That's what it was supposed to be.
But beneath the surface, it was something more.
She felt the warmth of his body lingering in the fabric, the subtle tension in his muscles as he let her undress him--just a little. He was letting her lead, whether he realized it or not.
She draped the jacket over the back of a chair, turning back to him with a soft, knowing smile. "You should take off your shoes," she murmured, her voice light but firm, the suggestion woven with just enough authority that it didn't feel like a suggestion at all.
Gabriel hesitated for the briefest moment--just long enough for her to savor it. He was already on unsteady ground, already wondering where the night was heading. She liked that. That moment where a man was still telling himself that nothing was happening, even as he followed her deeper into exactly where she wanted him to be.
She watched as he toed off his shoes, shifting slightly, his stance becoming more relaxed--or perhaps more vulnerable.
Denise's pulse thrummed beneath her skin. Yes. This was what she wanted. Not just the act itself, but the careful unraveling of it all. The slow, deliberate loosening of control. Not hers--his.
She turned toward the bedroom, casting one last glance over her shoulder. "Come on," she said, her voice soft, inviting.
She didn't have to look back to know he would follow.
Of course he would. They always did.
Denise jumped onto the bed with an effortless grace, the mattress dipping beneath her as she bounced slightly, just enough to send a ripple through the soft sheets. She let out a small, breathy laugh--carefree, natural, effortless. Or at least, that's how it had to look.
She knew Gabriel would look. Had to look.
The hem of her skirt fluttered as she tucked her legs beneath her, drawing her knees up just enough. Not too much. Not obvious. But enough.
Reaching for the throw blanket, she let her fingers brush against the plush fabric, moving slowly, deliberately, as though she had all the time in the world. The bedroom was warm, the lighting soft, casting a golden glow over her skin. She belonged in this setting--she had created it.
She stretched the blanket across her lap, but not too high. Never too high. Just enough to create contrast, to make the exposed parts of her legs seem even more noticeable. A game of revelation and concealment.
Gabriel stood at the foot of the bed, hesitating. She could feel his eyes on her, the way he was fighting the urge to stare, to drink her in.
She smiled, tilting her head. "Are you going to stand there all night?" she teased, her voice light, playful.
It was an invitation. It was always an invitation.
She patted the space beside her, shifting just enough that the fabric of her blouse moved with her, brushing against her skin like a whisper. She knew the effect it had. She counted on it.
