Seeing Dangerous

I’m not entirely sure what it was that I expected to see after the whole danger warning she gave me. Something metallic? Gun barrels like the Fembots in Austin Powers? Scales?

Nope, just the immaculate curves of Carolina’s mouth-watering cleavage above the simple black silk of her bra.

“Am I seeing dangerous now?” I asked plaintively.

“No, you’re seeing cleavage now,” she said.

“That’s funny,” I remarked. “I was just thinking that.” I was never a huge fan of that kind of circular reference. It left a taste in my mouth more bitter than the java Carolina dispensed into the waiting maw of her consumer clientele.

I didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it before Carolina grabbed one of her four candles and advanced toward me, shirtless, sending light in watery ripples along the bedsheet.

“Now I think I’m seeing dangerous,” I said. I was too. The word “dangerous” was tattooed just below her navel.

“It gets better,” said Caroline.

“It does?”

“It does.” She slid closer.

“Should I take my shirt off now?”

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