Story time.

She’d been his maid for ten days when she felt his eyes tracing her every bend and stretch. The house was too quiet, the air too heavy.
One evening, while making his bed, his hand settled on her waist (not asking, simply claiming). Her husband had never touched her like that: slow, deliberate, as if he’d memorized her body in secret. Heat surged through her, shameful and unstoppable.
She should have pulled away. Instead she melted. His mouth found hers, hungry, certain. The uniform fell; guilt flickered and died. For the first time, she was wanted, devoured, undone. She gave herself completely, breathless, lost in the storm of his desire