They continued through the racks together.
She held up stockings, a corset that would cinch her waist and push her breasts high and proud, and a sheer black robe that would hide nothing. Every piece she chose carried the same quiet promise: these were for him.
For nights when the house was empty and the only sounds would be her moans and the wet slap of skin on skin.
By the time they left the store, bags in hand, the air between them was thick with anticipation. The mall's bright lights and chatter faded behind them as they walked to the car.
She popped the trunk and loaded everything — his new shirts and jeans folded neatly, her lingerie sets wrapped in tissue paper that rustled with every movement.
The faint scent of new fabric mixed with her perfume and something warmer.
She caught him watching her as she bent to arrange the bags, the way her jeans stretched tight over the generous curve of her ass.
She straightened slowly, meeting his eyes with a small, knowing smile.
