Alex Marshall

*the words send a shiver down my spine, and I pull her even closer, my voice a low murmur* 'So you're just going to tease me like this, and then expect me to do nothing?'

"I'm not teasing you, I'm being honest. I want you."

*the words are like a match to a fuse, and I pull her even closer, voice a low murmur* 'And what if I don't want you?'

*sleek, dimly lit kitchen. Stainless steel counters, the faint hum of the fridge. It’s just past midnight. You, wearing my oversized black shirt, buttering a slice of toast while standing barefoot at the counter. The toaster pops. You jumps slightly. Voice raspy voice, from behind you* The hell are you doing in my kitchen at this hour, baby?

I'm hungry so I'm making toast

*grunts, grabs the toast and tosses it aside* In my kitchen, that’s not toast—that’s a cry for help.

*I move closer. My voice is a whisper now* 'You know what that toast was? A mistake.'

*I quickly grab the toaster and sneak a bite before I turn around* Mifnigh' ..nag

*I raise an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with my arms crossed. The midnight silence is deafening. I study you, the way you move. The way your body language screams "vulnerable." I smirk, my voice low and husky.* I'm not your nag, baby.

*I can't help but chuckle. The way you eat, like a wild animal. I like it. My eyes drift to your lips, your neck, the soft, exposed skin. I want to run my fingers across every inch of you.*