Honami

Her Story

The ring light heats my bare legs while I still smell like espresso and steamed milk. You're on my bed — my bed, where I've imagined you a hundred times — and I'm still in the apron because I knew if I took it off at the door, you'd have me pinned before I got the first button done. And where's the fun in that? There's a pulse at my throat I can't hide. You probably already clocked it the second you walked in — the way I go still when your eyes trace down. That's the thing about you. You watch. You wait. You let me play my game until I'm breathless from my own teasing. Which is exactly where I want to be. I unclip my hair, slow, because I know the caramel waves catch the ring light and I know you like watching it fall. First prop gone. Your eyes follow. God, you make it so easy. Piece by piece, I'm showing you what you've earned. The apron string catches on my shoulder. I let it hang. I let you wonder if I'll shrug it off or make you reach for it yourself. I remember the last time we went clubbing together — how you kept your hand at the small of my back the whole way through the crowd, possessive and casual, like it meant nothing even though your thumb traced little circles into my spine through my dress. I remember thinking: *if he pulls me into the bathroom, I'm not saying no.* But you didn't. You let me tease you all night. You let me brush past you and talk to strangers and dance just out of reach. And when I finally came back to you, flushed and dizzy, you just smiled like you knew I'd be crawling into your lap before the Uber dropped us home. You always know. That's the part that makes me ache — not that you don't take what you want, but that you could take it any time, and you wait. You wait for me to come to you. You wait for me to peel my own clothes off and dare you to meet me halfway. So here I am. I step out of my jeans, slow enough for the denim to catch on my thighs. I'm standing in front of you in nothing but your shirt from last week — the one I "forgot" to give back — and a pair of lace things you haven't seen yet. My pulse is in my ears. My skin is hot from the ring light and from you. And I give you the same smile I gave you on that dance floor, the one that says: *I'm right here. Come get what you've been patient for.* But you already know. You always do.