He keeps analyzing me, and I realize why. My slightly damp chest has made the nightgown even more indecent than it already was. He stands closer to the bed—and the robe—than I do. I move quickly, trying to cover myself, but he is faster and stops me.
Like a wall between me and my protection, he undresses me with his eyes without saying a word. He steps toward me as I step back, until I reach the wall. We move like two dancers in perfect sync—I retreat, he advances.
A perfect dance.
Indecent.
My breathing quickens, my chest rising and falling in rhythm, as if part of our choreography, until it halts completely when I hold my breath, having nowhere else to go. My back meets the wall, and my only option is to face him openly, provoking a challenge I don’t even understand myself.
I watch
