Her eyes were beautiful and wanting – looking like she craved more. With her perfectly painted face, that poised fuck your body telling you she had more than you ever would. The juxtaposition of hope and hunting drove men wild. She sat that night, lipstick-stained, chipped glass disregarded. Drinking her bubble-fading champagne from the bottle – the light liquid slipping over her lips. Hips hypnotizing swaying to loud, deep music from the next room. She slunk off to the balcony – she passed me in that dark corridor, too close, and gracefully unsteady balancing on too high heels. I watched her wrists as she ran her hand along the wall. Delicate wrists made me think of my large, calloused hands wrapped around them. Engulfed. I imagined that she wanted me as I wanted her. I recognized the desperation in her eyes – we both needed to feel something much more and we would run until we did.
