With my arms wrapped around her neck, holding on for dear life, she smells like Jasmine, she moves, panther like across the alley through the rain; through her iron security door she goes.
“CLANG.”
Up the stairs we go, my cheek pressed against her long tribal neck.
Once inside, I gasp, for the place is eclectically stunning, bare, basic and primal like her. There are slabs of iron, rock, welding torches and such everywhere. She’s a f*****g artist, no doubt, the stuff is remarkable. She’s remarkable. I’m feeling loopy again, god her scent is savage. She gently sets me on my boots, holding my non waist in her large, aquiline hands, making sure I don’t flop on my face as she does. Every part of my body aches from all the beating I have gotten over the past few days,
I love unabashedly and
