You gonna pull these off of me or….?

You can't take your eyes off that ass, barely contained in whatever's clinging to those curves like it knows exactly what it's doing.

You feel the pull of it — that specific hunger that starts in your chest and drops somewhere lower, immediate and undeniable.

You reach forward in your mind before your hands even move, fingers curling into waistband, the slow drag downward already playing out in full detail behind your eyes, unhurried, deliberate, yours to take.