Hello gorgeous

My definition of beauty was not me
Now everytime I look in the mirror, I like what I see

Wicked Soul

He carelessly leaves remnants of his cologne every where
Making me turn around expecting to see him when I know he won't be there.
He doesn't realise how wet my panties get everytime he looks at me with those fuck me eyes, those eat me lips.
It's irresponsible of him to have those wide hands and those veined forearms. Those veins that lay there, bulging over muscle; teasing me into wondering how well they'll hold me up when I climb on top.
This wicked soul has a grip on my imagination and he doesn't know; doesn't care. All he cares about is getting me to free him; to give him permission to ignite my daydreams. 
"Fuck you," he says to me. Frustrated, feeling trapped because I won't let him touch me where I crave for him to touch me.
But I can't give in. I can't fuck another's, so yeah, fuck me.