About the Satin

On wearing something that asks to be adored

The mirror caught her first - a flash of deep-crimson satin poured over curves like spilled wine, the neckline daring and the back a plunge of forbidden midnight, a dress worthy of Jessica Rabbit herself.

She smoothed the fabric over her hips, feeling every slow breath stretch against its flawless fit. In the hush of their bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed, forearms braced on his knees, eyes dark and unblinking.

“Say something,” she murmured, turning just enough for the low back to steal his breath.

“I’m trying,” he answered, voice rough. “But I think my vocabulary left with the rest of my self-control.”

A knowing smile curved her lips. She pivoted fully, hands on her waist.

“Does it pass inspection?”

He exhaled a laugh that was almost a groan.

“It’s illegal, that’s what it is. Spin again - slow.”

She obliged, the hem whispering over her thighs. Heat shimmered between them, heavy with everything unspoken. When she faced him once more, his gaze had traveled every inch.

“I bought this for fancy dinners,” she teased.

“Baby girl, the only thing I’m serving tonight is worship,” he said, standing to close the distance, fingertips hovering an inch from silk and skin.

Her pulse fluttered beneath satin.

“Then start with your eyes.”

“They’ve never left you.”

Time held its breath - one heartbeat, two - electric with promise. The story ends there, but the night is just beginning.

— K