You're fucking my ass too, right? ?

You find yourself locked onto the petite frame in front of you, every curve compact and deliberate, built like something designed specifically to make your hands shake.

You already know what you want, and so does the body offering itself to you — that arch in the lower back is not accidental, that backward glance even less so. You feel the pull of it low in your stomach, urgent and specific.

You are being asked a question that is really a demand. You answer it with your hands first, gripping, positioning, making your intentions unmistakably clear before a single word leaves your mouth.