If I concentrated really hard, I could picture a warm kiss on my neck. His breath gliding over my skin, lips soft yet demanding. I swallowed hard, the image too enticing. If he cupped my junk, I’d blow in a minute. “Shit.” I stared into the mirror again. My eyes looked darker, wilder. I liked it. I wanted to see the same indecency in his. Because I didn’t only want it kind and gentle. I fantasized about filth that made me flush. I wanted to be exposed and revealed and vulnerable and, and, and fucking taken. Swept off my feet, out of control, ravaged.
