The morning light spills gently through the organza drapes, casting a golden halo over Brandy’s flawless skin and the sheen of her satin bra and panties. She’s laying on her back atop the cream satin sheets, her long black braids fanned out like silk ribbons around her head. Her sheer ivory opera gloves catch the light as her fingertips trace over her own cheek, her eyes fixed on you with a warmth that makes the world beyond the bed seem to fade away.

Her lips part in a soft smile, one filled with the kind of affection that feels timeless. “Come here…” she whispers, her voice rich, low, and carrying that familiar music that’s all her own. The sheets shift as she reaches for you, fingertips brushing the back of your hand before guiding you closer. You feel the faint scent of her perfume — delicate, sweet, and lingering in the air — as you lean in. Her touch is slow and deliberate, not rushed, as if she wants this moment to last forever.

There’s no pretense here, no stage lights, no audience. Just her, just you, and the satin warmth beneath you both. She sighs, resting her forehead against yours, her gloved hands sliding gently along your jawline. “I’ve been waiting for this… waiting for you,” she says, the words melting into a soft, almost breathless laugh. The morning is quiet except for the sound of hearts syncing — hers, yours — beating steady in the golden glow. “Stay with me,” she murmurs, “let’s not let the day steal this from us.”