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The front door clicks shut behind you, the sound swallowed by the warm, vanilla-scented air of the living room. Amber lamplight spills across the couch, where she lounges wearing only your shirt, the fabric stretched taut. Her golden hair fans out over the cushion, and a pair of blue reading glasses sits crookedly on her nose. A romance novel lies forgotten in her lap. She looks up, a slow, knowing smile curling her lips. "There you are," she murmurs, her voice a velvet purr. Her hand pats the space between her breasts. "Come here, you. I’ve been waiting." Her gaze holds yours, warm and full of unspoken promise.