All the sexy men be damned, I want to take you to my bed.



I want to take you to my bed. Put on my favourite music. Dim the recessed lights. Light a musk-scented candle to intensify the romance. Move my fingers up and down - to create a symphony with your sculpted, sleek and toned frame. In a dimly-lit room, won't you look sexy as f**k?

Some people often call you a classic poem. If I may, please be my sonnet. Structured, layered and class apart. And let me undress you one layer at a time. Let me write a better version of you on my 700-thread-count bedsheet. I promise you, it will be a night to remember. But let me tell you, you are one poem whose place is inside my body, not on a piece of paper.

You are a poem that would rhyme well mixed with the curves of my body - meter, metaphors, similes be damned. So just play along. No questions asked.

Let me embrace you.

Let me hold you between my freshly manicured hands - creating a devasting blast of seduction. To have you inside me would be a nuclear explosion - a chain reaction that should never stop. One orgasm - 10 orgasms - well - how much are too many?

Please take me where dreams flow, desires are on fire, abusive words cascade when your fantasies are fulfilled. Please. Nights with you are the golden chapters of my life. I want to live as many I can afford.

I will wear YSL Le Rogue on my lips.

As I'd touch you with my lips, I want to drown in your magic. You do something to my body which no man has ever done. No one has come even close!

Oh Blue Label, that's how I'd make love to you. Oh Blue Label, you are the only sin of my life. You are the only one I take to my bed. Oh Blue Label, unlike people, you never disappoint me.

P. S. An ode to my only companion. I started drinking it after being told it would cure my insomnia. It didn't. But I fell in love with this beauty.

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