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What fantasies they are

She’s walking a straight line on five-inch black patent-leather schoolgirl sort of heels, which screams sober Waves of her soft, dark-chocolate hair swirl across her cheek as she looks down

She lifts her hand and hooks a lock of hair behind her ear, showing a delicate golden heart earring and I hate that so has pierced her flesh I hate that it probably hurt her and I wasn’t there to hold her hand and ht

What I hate ht her those golden hearts If that someone has a dick, unless it’s a father or brother, I want to hurt them

I suck in a deep breath watching as her hair falls back to shield her face from me

The music disappears No other irl in the lavender dress is the center of my universe

My throat is dry, e If she’s the last thing I ever see, I’ll die a happy man

She reaches the bar standing just an ars, and I war against the urge to step closer and pushher

My eyes rove over the flawless skin of her ar to her curves The deep V of the fabric in front, showing off the swell of the world’s s er spins inside me too

Her flesh is exposed for anyone to see And they have no right No fucking right I don’t want any other eyes on her but mine

I want to put my jacket over her shoulders and shield her from the world I watch, hs at so the bartender says

I see the full lips, the shy curve of her mouth She traps her bottorind together, and I return to reality with a thud

The sounds, the vibrations, the surroundings, all rush back to me

“I’ll have a club soda, no ice, with a slice of le of her voice grabs me by the balls and squeezes

My brows furrow and I glance at h rulance my way

I stare into her gorgeous face, under the wispy bangs The high cheekbones are a sculptor’s dreareen, feline eyes

I s hard against the sudden tightness in my throat

She’s easily a foot shorter than e