I have a man kneeling at my feet. Another right behind me, one hand sliding over my bare hip as the other traces its fingers oh-so-lightly along the back of my thong where it disappears between my cheeks. And a third, the one whose attention, whose approval, makes me light up in ways I despise and adore in equal measure, staring at me like he’d love to shove his henchmen out of the way and pillage me right here.
