Sexy sex sex. If you like, hit the heart or the reblog. Please!
It’s those tiny touches that matter.
We are in a room full of people. Your friend Tanya says that joke about that thing and we both laugh and my hand cups your ass and squeezes. The thin material of your little black dress separates your skin from my fingers, but just barely. Just enough. It’s tactile. But almost insignificant.
We fade into a corner and melt into our own world. It’s a dance. When I lead, you take a step back. My lips graze your neck, and your hands keep distance. “Be a good boy,” you say, knowing I won’t be. Knowing you don’t want me to be.
Hands on hands. My arms around your waist, pulling you tight. You feel my cock pressing against you, and you moan. We kiss. Briefly. Lightly. You glance around the room. Aware of all eyes. Aware I don’t give a shit.
Hands dance. Hearts leap. We are in a room full of eyes but the electricity is just for us. Every shock. Every bounce. Every touch. Every gaze.