(Feel free to laugh; I did.)
I've never looked at you in quite this way before; or anyone, for that matter. There's something about your beauty that's so fragile that I want to break it...more.
The harsh lines of your face, those razor cheekbones, they invite bruises, not kisses.
You're very pretty, yes. Sitting there so reserved, almost demure, hands together in your lap as if you weren't wearing laddered tights and the briefest of miniskirts. What does it take to make you sweat and throw your head back; would you care to tell me, or shall I find out for myself?
Kneel up with your legs slightly apart, little madam, and let's see that skirt ride up until it may as well not be there... You wear the clothes and you may walk the walk but from here it's really very obvious that you're anything but a girl. Don't move, baby; some of us want to look at you like this, so pretty and so vulnerable.
Anyone can look but tonight only I can touch. And it's sweet to see you bow your head a little as I move closer...you're trying to hide how much you want this, but right now you can't hide anything at all.
Glad I've kept my nails sharp; these tights are so wrecked anyway that a few more ladders won't make a difference. You're worried about your clothes? I'd concern yourself with the deep red marks I'm leaving along your skin. Does that hurt enough for now?...
Can't say I know quite where that came from (I should probably have apologised before, actually, rather than after) though I know full well who inspired it. I'd thank them, but I don't know them awfully well (and I also wouldn't want to lay the blame for this dreadful writing on their slender shoulders. Heh.)
And I'd also like to say : Oh bloody hell. Enrique Iglesias is massacring 'White Wedding' on TV right now. ~dives for cover~
Er. Anyway. I'm really sorry about this post. But it's gone midnight and I've had far too much coke.