19F Your self-control is slipping. I can see it.

You’re trying so hard to play it cool, but I can see every crack in that calm, your eyes linger too long, your breath dips for a second, and that little shift in your posture tells me exactly what you’re thinking about. Your self-control is slipping, and honestly, I don’t blame you, the more you look, the harder it gets to pretend you’re not imagining my body close to yours, my voice low in your ear, daring you to stop holding back and finally let yourself want me the way you already do.