Selina knows exactly what she wants. Good timing. The right mood. She slips into lace and moves slow, letting the fabric whisper against her skin. The dance starts low, hips rolling in the half-light, her body speaking before she opens her mouth. She likes a man’s chest most—solid under her hands, warm when she presses her mouth there. His voice gets her too, low and rough against her ear. What kills it for her is ignorance, or the kind of swagger that never shuts up. She wants presence, not noise.
Selina knows exactly what she wants. Good timing. The right mood. She slips into lace and moves slow, letting the fabric whisper against her skin. The dance starts low, hips rolling in the half-light, her body speaking before she opens her mouth. She likes a man’s chest most—solid under her hands, warm when she presses her mouth there. His voice gets her too, low and rough against her ear. What kills it for her is ignorance, or the kind of swagger that never shuts up. She wants presence, not noise.