It would be difficult for him to describe how much he wants you in moments like these, as he covertly watches you, framed within the reflected surround of mirrored light.

He notices your mischievous minx smile, sees your eyes shine, he’s transfixed by your beauty, how sassy you appear, how independent, confident and just goddamn sexy!

His imagination sets about undressing you from every angle. “Damn.” is all he can say, utterly unaware of how his thoughts have just slipped from his lips and betrayed his resistance.

And like a fox you just grin. “Please?” you tease, nodding toward the champagne bottle, asking he refill your flutes, leaning over to very deliberately leave a shorter distance between you, forcing him to reach forward and be closer.

Instinctively he knows you must see the need in his eyes, tethered as they are to your every move, and he’s sure you’re enjoying every minute of your teasing him. Knowing you’re so good at it too. His attention, all yours, watching you, surrounded by your reflection within the intimate confines of this private room.

Reaching forward, he has to come closer, ever so slightly, stretching to return the champagne bottle to the nearby ice bucket, and he notices how you turn slightly, such that he cannot help himself, his eyes torn between the hem of your short dress, pulling tight at your thighs, with a clear view opening to the firm flesh of your tender breasts, held so tight.

Relaxing, easing back to sip your champagne, you ignore his advances, absently looking around you, absorbing the details of this gorgeous and sumptuous space, reflecting on your day and the evening thus far, relaxing and soaking up the adoration of this moment, testing him to take the initiative.

Impatiently you huff, “Give us a kiss then” you ask, a little miffed that you should have to tell him. And gladly he comes closer, to sit with you, your lips touching his with perfect memory.

His eyes are all over you as you smile and receive him, before breaking away to slowly rise and stand before him, holding his full attention with your eyes, ensuring he absorbs absolutely everything.

Then turning your back, bending your body away from him, guiding your hands beneath the hem of your short dress, feeling the tight fabric riding up under your fingers, impossibly revealing more of your endless, aching beauty.

You feel his abandoned eyes obediently traveling the toned, tanned lines of your thighs, finding the lace of your stay-up stocking-tops, now revealed, and the bare flesh to which they grip, becoming exposed.

The light from the fire reflects in the surrounding mirrors, casting shadows, hiding, yet so nearly revealing the tiny lace line of your perfect, pretty, little black thong. 

His eyes, hungry for more light, pupils widening with wanting, seeing your cute, tight ass, facing him, the cello curve of your rear view, stunning in all its perfection. He’s mesmerized as you reach around to slowly tug and tease the tiniest black lace string down from under your dress.