Don't break the eye contact...

You can't look away from that ass, and you know it — the curve of it holds your gaze like a command you didn't agree to follow.

You feel the pull low in your stomach, something urgent and wordless, the kind of want that makes your hands restless at your sides.

You've been caught staring, and the eye contact that follows dares you to pretend otherwise — your breath shortens, your pulse answers, and every rational thought dissolves into the simple, consuming fact of how badly you want to close that distance.