First word you think of when you look at me

You see petite and you feel it immediately — that pull in your chest, that drop in your stomach.

You take in every inch slowly, the way your eyes refuse to move on, catching the curve of a waist you could wrap your hands around twice, the soft weight of what sits above it, the line of a hip that breaks into something you want to press your thumb against.

You already know the word forming behind your teeth. You let it sit there. You want to hold onto this moment just a little longer before you give it away.