The man was too freakin’ gorgeous to walk the planet. If he were a piece of sculpture, Michelangelo’s David would vacate his pedestal in embarrassment and shame and run crying back to the little kids’ table. She imagined threading her fingers through those dense, midnight locks, pulling him closer, letting him nibble on her… touching the brutally-carved face, the sharp, high cheekbones giving way to shadowed hollows, bone-rigid jaw, full kissable lips.
This time, instead of fleeing, the annoying voice inside her woke up and called an audible.
Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me. Make me yours. Fuck my freakin’ brains out.
And visit other Six Sentence Sunday participants here: http://sixsunday.com