Please, your face in them

You catch yourself staring directly into that cleavage before a single thought forms in your head.

You feel the pull of it like something physical, like a hand pressed flat against your chest. You want to lean forward. You want to press your face into that warm, soft darkness and stay there until the rest of the world stops mattering entirely.

You already know what it would feel like — the heat, the weight, the slow rhythm of breathing surrounding you completely. You don't look away. You were never going to look away.