If you could lick any part of my small body, what would that be?

You're looking at a petite frame that stops your thoughts cold — compact, smooth, and built to make your hands feel clumsy with want.

You notice the way every curve is concentrated, nothing wasted, nothing hidden from your gaze. You feel the pull low in your stomach, that specific hunger that only comes from wanting to taste something you haven't earned yet.

You already know your answer to the question. You'd start somewhere unexpected — the hollow of a collarbone, the inside of a wrist — and work your way into territory that makes you forget your own name.