The walls are spinning, yet my vision is hyper-focused on her eyes; drawing all the attention out of the room.
They shine, they sparkle. They gleam a becon that destroys my insides and brings me back to my existence; weak and fragile, full of selfishness and wanting.
She smells of Midnight mixed in with a swirl of romance on her softest of spots.
The profound scent of Peony with undertones of vannilla and raspberries; flooding my airways with such a lustful aroma. I am drunk, I have smelled the scent of heavens skin. There is no more, there is no other.
Her lips pursed with confidence, a half-cocked smile of concietedness that could only be brought on by her sexiest of outfitts.
Her gaze is devilish; piercing through me with her womanhood, her need is selfish, and rightly so. She gives and she gives, it’s her right to take, take whatever she needs. She may use me for all her sinful needs.
No matter how strong I think I am, my eyes trail back to her lips; plump with softeness, rich in the reddest of reds, there is only so long a man can resist.
Standing there, not moving an inch, it’s a game. How long until I give in? How long until I run across the room and kiss her, stealing as many as I can? Her lips have always been my weakness, how long until my desire gets the best of me? Because I can undress her, quicker than she can blink, that’s what she needs.
The faster my self-control bursts apart and falls on the floor, leaving trails of carefully thought out lingirie. The more exhilerated she feels, for what does a woman want from her man but be needed, be wanted?