Ready to make you my Valentine

You can't take your eyes off that ass, round and bare and offered up like a Valentine's gift wrapped in nothing but want.

You feel your pulse shift somewhere low and insistent, the kind that doesn't ask permission.

You already know how your hands would fit there, thumbs pressing into warm skin, pulling closer until there's no distance left between wanting and having. You imagine the weight of that body against yours, the slow surrender of it, and suddenly February feels like the hottest month of the year.