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He speaks in perfect, no silky, words. Always patting my ass almost in passing. Biting my bottom lip perfectly. Then there’s the smile. And the perfect timing thing.
My momma warned me about men like “him”.
They’ll notice your Milky Way eyes and spring in subtly. All narrow hipped and lithe. Magnetic, they are. You can’t look away, be away, stay away. So they'll pull you under. Because they can. By your hair. And there'll be no choice but to hold your breath. Surrender to the pain of pleasure, or the pleasure of pain. Whichever.
People write songs about them.
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The 100 word prompt: SMOOTH
I wrote this for Velvet Verbosity. Go check it out!
