I like to make breakfast being like this

You catch a glimpse of that bare ass first — the kind that makes you forget what you were about to say.

You imagine standing in that kitchen doorway, coffee going cold in your hand, unable to look away. You watch the slow, unhurried movement, the warmth of morning light tracing every curve like it knows exactly what it's doing to you.

You realize breakfast has never felt this dangerous before. You could stand there all morning, hungry for something that has nothing to do with food, wanting nothing more than to close the distance between you and that body.