Layer by layer,
a support system,
and safety coverage,
much like
an encouraging armour.

I piled them on,
layer by layer.

Coloured cream,
every inch,
every corner,
explored by the wisp of a soft brush,
caressing and comforting.

Stroke by stroke,
black ink on tapered brushes,
forms a full pair,
and prominent curls that
softly flutters.

Such lovely coyness.

Stroke by stroke,
a staining motion,
softly presses,
while trailing a curved path
with eyes lowered.

Truly,
the cheapest thrill a woman has.

Hands running through,
pulling yet gentle,
of soft brown curls.

A spritz from a glass vial,
neck daintily stretched,
eyes contently shut.

The light fragrance flirts in the air,
a flowery scent,
musky and sweet.

An over-sized pullover,
cotton hides luscious curves,
drawing eyes to every inch of
skin exposed.

A shiver contained,
from the ruffling of the material,
and intense flames behind watching eyes.

A deep intake of air,
eyes meeting through the mirror.

As though gears clicked into place,
an indulgent smile displays.

*"Come here," he said.