Pearls Between Her Breasts
She turned away from the mirror, the strands of pearls swaying gently between her breasts, looking at him expectantly. Her hair was twisted up off the nape of her neck, only a few tendrils drifting down to frame her face and flirt with her shoulders.
He reclined on the bed lazily, his eyes half closed in the late afternoon sun, the book he had been reading set aside the moment her clothes came off. He knew he should get up and dress for dinner soon, but watching her get ready was far more entertaining.
“Well?” she asked hesitantly. “Do you like them? Maybe with my black dress – the strappy one – you like that one, right?”
He stared at the swaying pearls and the dapples of afternoon sunlight painted on her skin with such intensity that a worried frown crept between her eyebrows.
“No? Too sexy?” She blushed a little, anxious for his approval. “I can wear something else….”
He said her name, once, firmly, but she had turned back to the closet.
“Maybe the green dress instead?” She asked holding them both up for his perusal.
He said her name again, and she turned back, looking still at the predatory look in his eyes.
“Either dress is fine,” he said quietly, patting the bedspread beside him. “But for now, forget the dress. Leave the pearls on. Come over here.”
“Oh?” she whispered.
“Now!” he insisted.
Both dresses spent the evening on the floor where she dropped them.
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