Quiet strength. Slow burn desire. The sun knows my secrets.

The light catches the curve of her lip as you turn your gaze down, slow and deliberate. A subtle shift in posture—a slight turn of the shoulder, a softening around the eyes—and suddenly the world narrows to this single point beneath your scrutiny. She tilts her head just enough to catch the dust motes dancing between us.

A faint rose color blooms on her cheeks as you trace the line of her jaw with a fingertip. It is not an invitation, but permission. A delicious surrender when yours touches hers.**