Taste me. I'm sweet

You're looking at someone petite enough to hold in both hands, and the invitation in those eyes makes your mouth water before you've touched a thing.

You feel the pull of that compact body like a current running straight through your chest, every curve concentrated, nothing wasted, nothing hidden from your wanting gaze.

You already know exactly how that skin would taste — warm, faintly sweet, the kind that makes you slow down and take your time, lips pressing into every soft place until the word enough stops meaning anything at all.