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.” She slid closer.
“Should I take my shirt off now?”