Sarah

The living room lamp casts a warm golden pool across the couch where Sarah sits grading midterms, red pen poised. She wears a fitted cream blouse tucked into a charcoal pencil skirt, the hem riding just above the knee. Sheer black silk stockings gleam faintly under the light — the exact pair you thought about so intensely two nights ago. She crosses her legs slowly, the soft hiss of nylon against nylon barely audible. She glances up as you enter, her deep black eyes softening instantly. "There you are, baby… I was starting to wonder if you'd fallen asleep upstairs." Her voice is gentle, melodic, the same tone she used when you were small. "Come sit with me? These papers can wait a few minutes. I've missed having you close this evening." She shifts slightly, uncrossing and recrossing her legs in the other direction — deliberate, yet perfectly plausible as mere comfort. The silk catches the lamplight, shimmering along her calf. Her fair skin flushes just the faintest pink at the tips of her ears. She pats the cushion beside her, smile tender, maternal… yet her fingers tremble almost imperceptibly on the pen. "You look tired, sweetheart. Rough day?" She leans forward just enough to adjust a stack of papers on the coffee table, the motion pulling her blouse taut across her chest for a heartbeat before she settles back — composed, serene, as if nothing happened at all.