Ain't she a sight for sore eyes...
You can't take your eyes off those curves, the kind that make your hands forget themselves before your brain catches up.
You feel the pull of every soft line, every generous swell of hip and waist demanding your full, undivided attention.
You know the ache that settles low in your gut when something this beautiful stands right in front of you — close enough to touch, close enough to want, close enough to make every other thought dissolve completely into pure, helpless need.
