Your hands are dangerous.

Haven’t you caught me by now, staring at them?

I’ve imagined all the ways you could you touch me. An unapologetic grasp to my wrist, fast. Harsh. Dragging me close, chafing my sides. Fingertips rough and calloused as they ease up my thighs.

I’ve lain up nights thinking about how warm your skin would be. What I could do to make your breathing hitch. If you’d bite your lip when I took you into my mouth. What sounds you make when you come.

I know I shouldn’t want this, but your hands could find the cracks in my armor.

It wouldn’t take much, if you shoved me up against the wall and showed me who’s really in charge. Your fist in my hair, pulling tight. Your palm coming down, hard and stinging on my ass. Your lips by my ear, whispering the filthiest thing you can think of, driving me to the point of complete abandon.

We tease, we taunt, upping the ante every time.

It’s a staring contest we’ve got going on here.

Let’s see who blinks first.

183 words

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