The front door creaked open just wide enough to admit her. Bella stepped inside, heels ticking once on the hardwood, and paused like a woman walking into her own fantasy.

She didn’t say a word.

Bella dropped her keys into a bowl near the front door. Her hand released the leather strap of her handbag, letting it fall with a soft thud beside her feet. Then came the jacket - shrugged off one shoulder at a time. She hung it on a hanger along with other coats and jackets. She was already undressed enough to make a man lose his train of thought.

Tom sat on the soft gray couch, the glow from the muted TV brushing across his face. A half-empty beer sat on the low coffee table. He wore a soft cotton t-shirt and sweatpants, always barefoot. The game had long since ceased to matter. He was barely breathing. His mind had been playing the date, replaying Bella’s teasing texts since she’d sent them earlier. Every detail, every imagined touch, already burned in his head.

What she wore tonight - it wasn’t something from her usual wardrobe. The pink dress hugged her like a second skin, short enough to make her legs look longer, low enough in front that it teased the swell of her breasts with every movement. Thin straps cradled her bare shoulders, and the material shimmered faintly under the dim lights. Her nipples - tight, stiff, unmistakable - pressed against the clingy fabric, unrestrained by anything beneath.

No bra.

Her perfume drifted ahead of her - sultry vanilla, musk, and the unmistakable sweetness of something more primal. Something spent.

Tom watched her cross the room, the sway of her hips just a hair exaggerated, as if she knew exactly how tightly wound he already was.

“Hi,” she said softly, as if she’d just come back from picking up wine. Her voice was hoarse, edged with something raw.

He tried to swallow. “So ... how was your date?”

She didn’t answer. Not right away. She tilted her head and gave him a slow smile, then lowered herself onto the couch beside him. One leg crossed neatly over the other, the hem of her dress sliding up to reveal the creamy skin of her upper thigh. The arch of her foot flexed in her heel.

She looked like temptation incarnate. And she knew it.

“You still want to know how my date went?” she asked, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Her lips were shiny. Slightly smeared. Deliberate.

Tom nodded, barely finding his voice. “Yes.”

“Good,” she said. Her hand moved to his lap. “Because I’m in a telling mood.”

She leaned closer, her perfume surrounding him like a net.

“We met at Ground Nine - that little café on the corner with the crooked booths. He was already sitting there when I arrived. Stared straight at my chest before I even said hello.”

Her fingers stroked the bulge in his shorts.