glory box
Always the bare midriff. Even in weather like this, you'll find a way to rock that bare stripe of skin.
Even sexier than your stomach is the way you respond when I place the palm of my hand on it. I see it, and I feel it. A bolt of lust that starts at the tip of your nipples and wriggles all the way down your legs.
Rock back and forth as you speak. Lean in to talk over the music. Thighs slide together and apart. Our secret is the tip of your tongue against my earlobe. Your lips. Lubricating. I hear the smile in your voice, you're always up for a good time.
I slide the tip of my pinky finger beneath your belt. I have a suggestion: let's get me out of this pant-leg. A pressing need, up and into you. Let's get you out of these wet clothes.
I follow your glance across the room. Worried about your friends. Forget about them. They'll be fine. Anyway, they knew it was all over as soon as we started talking.
I've got twelve hours left in this town and I've already wasted enough of them in this place. Go find your hat and gloves and that long, black coat you walked through the door in.
Let's get out of here and never come back.
