Drunk On You

"Irene, get off of me please."

Feeble words, feeble strength. How was she ever going to take me seriously?

"I don't think so," She whispered with words coated so sickeningly sweet. "I really don't think so."

Her hips, so provocative in its dainty sways from left to right, enticing, inviting… wanting for your eyes to wander, to behold, to crave and yearn…

I felt the weight of her hand, the warmth of it, rolling my shirt upwards into folds. Another warmth, another hand, gently gliding across my bare chest. 

There it was again, a dangerous wanting glint in her eyes, the hue of dark brown becoming an enthralling shimmer of crimson red. I tried to look away, turn my gaze elsewhere, but all it took was a single slender finger caressing my cheek to tilt my stare back into those velvet eyes of hers.