The guilty pleasure of an irish man

I wish i woulda spoke up.

my voice was hidden

or perhaps stolen?

he washed it away with a single kiss.

spell bound was my common sense.

he bared over me with a power so confident,

it had shaken me down to my soft still human core.

shedding away all those years of trial and error, tragedy and triumph, loss and struggled gain

like they never meant a thing.

who was i fighting more?

me

or

him?

each kiss, caress, nip,

propelled me to get even more lost in him.

losing clothes just as fast as my endangered pride

still fighting

him

or

me?

i already knew it would come to this hours ago

but i think he enjoys the fight

the ripped pink panties match

the damaged self esteem

a guilty rush of air sucked in

i can feel him

(burning hot)

everywhere

but in my heart

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