Quinn stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of the crop top with practiced ease. The fabric clung to her just right, highlighting the toned lines of her stomach, the soft curve of her waist. She twisted slightly, admiring the way it sat against her skin, how effortlessly it accentuated her figure.

Behind her, you had gone suspiciously silent. Quinn didn’t have to look to know why. She could feel your gaze, the way it lingered a little too long, the way the air in the room shifted—charged, heavy with something unspoken.

She turned slowly, letting the movement draw your attention back up to her face. Your expression was enough to pull a smirk from her lips, amusement flickering in her eyes. She had tried on a dozen outfits before this one, but none had left you looking quite this dumbstruck.

Pushing her hair back, she gave an idle stretch, watching your breath hitch just slightly. She let the moment stretch, basking in the effect, before finally crossing her arms over her chest, the movement making the crop top rise just a little higher. Your reaction was instant—just a flicker, but enough.

Quinn hummed to herself, pretending to consider. The top was cute, sure, but the real fun was seeing how easily it unraveled you. She dragged her fingers along the hem once more before turning to you fully, head tilted ever so slightly.

“So,” she drawled, her smirk deepening, “do you like it?” She let the question hang between you, amusement laced in every syllable. But she already knew the answer—your face had given you away the second she walked out of the dressing room.