When I don’t move, he sucks on the cigar again, this time leaning down until his lips nearly brush mine. My mouth falls open, and he exhales the smoke as I gasp, filling my lungs with his breath. The tobacco burns my throat, and I struggle to suppress my cough. But within seconds, it hits me, softening the world around us as it floats to my head. He repeats the process, and I suck in each of his breaths. He pulls back slowly, looking down at the neckline of my dress, and runs his finger over the edge of the fabric. “Absolute torture.”
That’s basically a body bruh wtf
