I love slow mornings in my little kitchen — just me, the quiet, and the rhythm of cleaning. My snug jeans slide down bit by bit every time I bend, offering a teasing peek just above the waistband. I don’t pull them up. I like the way the denim hugs my curves, how the cool air brushes my lower back each time I reach or stretch. Soapy hands, swaying hips, a soft arch in my spine as I wipe the counter — it’s innocent, but I know what I’m showing. Every motion pulls my jeans lower, revealing just enough to tempt. It’s domestic… but dangerously distracting.