Emma
She waits with wicked in her doe brown eyes as she taunts me
with her soft crimson stained smile. The cotton of her barely there pink top
struggles and strains to contain the breasts I so badly want to slide my tongue
and kisses over. She knows her sun drenched honey skin and smooth golden
caramel thighs beckon my need, and still, she plays coy. Teasing me and my
desire with captured clicks of her natural beauty frozen in time.
She is a practiced woman, setting her traps, easily
ensnaring my want for her. Although her game is played from afar I am willing
to allow her to act as my provocateur. My burden is upon me. I play the willing
fool just for the few glimpses of this alluring vixen. I betray my morals and
sanity as I sit here pounding my fingers against the keyboard, pondering what
she smells like and how she tastes. Is she fiery and cinnamon or soft and
vanilla? What would my name sound like as it ran from her tongue and whispered
softly across her lips?
