His tongue flicks out, laying a moist gleam on dusky rose. His lips purse around
the filter, and you adjust the Book in your lap. The planes of his face stand out in
stark relief as his cheeks hollow; the boyish chest expands and the tip of the clove
glows cherry-red.
Then it rests between pliant fingers and the curve of his throat is etched against
the sky. Smoke wreathes from parted lips and blue eyes narrow against its sting.
In his hands a filthy habit becomes a thing of beauty.
And it’s no wonder you can’t resist him... anymore.
~~~~~
the filter, and you adjust the Book in your lap. The planes of his face stand out in
stark relief as his cheeks hollow; the boyish chest expands and the tip of the clove
glows cherry-red.
Then it rests between pliant fingers and the curve of his throat is etched against
the sky. Smoke wreathes from parted lips and blue eyes narrow against its sting.
In his hands a filthy habit becomes a thing of beauty.
And it’s no wonder you can’t resist him... anymore.
~~~~~
| EYE OF THE BEHOLDER |
