Obsession wore spiked heels as hip-grinding passion writhed in a tight skirt. Foreplay unravelled to a sweet jazz soliloquy that keeps men scheming and younger men dreaming.
What you looking at, Sugar?
I didn't have a quick answer as she teased with a slow buttermilk whisper, Do you like it?
This was her game, and she knew it. Answers were tucked in her silk purse where love flowed and then exploded in an infinite passage of inane adjectives and flashing lights: "A Suite Invitation"
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