Do You Want To Touch It

Naomi couldn't quite believe what she had just heard. Had Zylan actually said that? Her eyes narrowed as she processed his words, and then, with a resigned shake of her head, she muttered, "Fine."

She walked toward the box and opened it, pulling out a perfectly designed and crisply ironed crepe-black shirt. Holding it in her hands, she glanced at him, her expression one of mock authority.

"Stand still," she commanded, her tone playfully firm, though her heart fluttered slightly at the intimacy of the moment.

Zylan, always one to tease, smirked and asked, "Wifey, should I bend?" His voice was laced with amusement, the hint of playfulness undeniable.

Naomi rolled her eyes, but she nodded, motioning for him to lower his arms. He slipped his hands into the shirt sleeves effortlessly, his movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring the moment. She began fastening the buttons, starting from the bottom.