Page 86 of Desperate Needs

Fucking hell.

She looked, well, she looked so fucking hot.

She wore a skintight skirt that barely covered her plump, heart-shaped ass. I swear I saw flashes of red, and was that white, when she jumped and wiggled, swaying to the music.

I didn’t know what I was seeing, but I liked it.

On top, she wore a green shiny top that barely contained her big tits.

Her gorgeous cleavage was making me fucking salivate. I didn’t know where to look first.

So, I looked everywhere. From her knee-high leather boots to her pale thighs. That tight fucking skirt to the shimmery tank top that molded to her like a second skin.

And, fuck, damn, the rapt expression on her face and those waves of crimson, her fat auburn curls, dancing down her back like a river of fire.

Looking at her beautiful body while she blew off steam should have made me feel like some Peeping Tom or a pervert with the thoughts I was having.

But it didn’t. Because that woman was mine. And I was born to be right there with her.

She was so beautiful.

All oranges and coppers. A ritual treasure trove of passion that defied reason.

I wanted to touch her so damn badly.

To fan her inner fire. Watch her fly apart. Capture the flames that flickered in her hair as it danced across her pale shoulders with every move she made.

Some stranger stopped next to me, his head following the direction of my stare, and shoved him hard.

“Back the fuck off,” I snarled, and he raised his hands in surrender, backing away.

Fuck.

I was being watched. I couldn’t go nuts in that place. But I wanted to.

The desire to run right to her, toss her over my shoulder, and drag her back home with me was so damn strong. My chest was heaving with exertion as I wrestled with myself for control.

Her cousin said something to her, and she tossed back her head and laughed. God, I missed that.

Her smiles.

Her joy.

I didn’t even realize how much I’d missed that until it was gone. It had only been a few days. But really, wasn’t it longer?

A whole year of me watching, waiting.

Countless hours of just staying in the shadows, hoping for a single glimpse of her.

Endless nights of feeding my dark soul on tiny specks of her light.

It was bad enough just watching from afar. Back before I’d touched her, it was a little bit like wishing on a star.

Like this secret, quiet hope wrapped in the weight of possibility.

There was something almost magical about it. About her.

She had this quality, this something that made you believe, if only for a moment, that the world might not be so awful.

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