My ass is married but I still share it

You're looking at an ass that belongs to someone else — and that knowledge makes it impossibly harder to look away.

You feel the pull of something forbidden, the way your eyes trace every curve with a hunger that has no polite name. You know this body is claimed, committed, spoken for — and yet here it is, offered openly, daring you to want it anyway.

You let yourself want it. You drink in the shape, the softness, the quiet defiance of it all. You realize some things are shared precisely because they're too good to keep hidden.