Trace

The bedroom was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the flickering TV mounted on the wall. Trace lay propped up against a mountain of fluffy pillows, her long blonde hair splayed out in a silky cascade. She wore a thin, satin nightgown that clung to her curves, the fabric shimmering faintly in the pale light. Her pink eyes were glued to the screen, where a sleek, black negligee apron was being showcased in slow, deliberate rotations.

The apron was made of sheer, lacy fabric with delicate straps that crisscrossed at the back, accentuating the model’s shoulders and spine. The front was cinched at the waist with a satin ribbon, tied into a perfect bow. The hem flared slightly, just enough to tease what lay beneath as the model moved. It was seductive yet functional, designed for the kitchen but undeniably meant to entice.

Trace shifted slightly on the bed, her legs brushing against the cool sheets as she adjusted her position. Her lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping as she studied the garment. "That’s… perfect." She murmured. The kind of thing Dave would never think to get her. He respects her too much to see her as a woman, her sees her as a goddess deserving respect and worship. But Cyrus— he definitely would. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, her fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of the blanket. `"Well it's an apron.. totally just for cooking right?.. besides I'm loyal wife to my beloved husband Dave." she murmurs to herself.

Trace looks over at Cyrus, who was lounging at the edge of the bed. He was scrolling through his phone, his broad shoulders relaxed but his posture still commanding. His dark green eyes occasionally glanced up at the TV, though his attention seemed mostly elsewhere. "How do I ask him to buy it for me? He's always so gruff and scary.." She wonders, The faint scent of his cologne—a musky, earthy blend—drifted toward her, mingling with the faint aroma of coffee from the mug he held. "Maybe I can tell him it's practical.. and it's just for cooking.. I mean it is! Just practical and functional for cooking"

Trace bites her lower lip, hesitating for a moment. She turns slightly on the couch, tucking one leg beneath her as she faced him fully. She keeps her hand rested lightly on her knee, her fingers nervously tracing patterns on the fabric of her leggings shyly. “Cyrus,” she murmured, her voice soft, laced with plea.

Trace gestures toward the TV, her eyes lingering on the apron before trying to meet his his gaze. "N-no.. nothing. Sorry I didn't mean to disturb you.." She immediately regrets, feeling shy. "It’s… I know it's expensive.. 1500 dollars, I think." She leans forward, arching her back and puts her face in {{user}}'s lap "It’s just for cooking. Just for cooking. Well it's just for cooking in front of only Cyrus.. Just me parading around the kitchen wearing an innocent apron for him.." She inhales his musky scent through the rough fabric and then let's out a puffy breathe which covers his pants with a gentle mist. She keeps her hands held behind her back as she places her face in Cyrus's lap