Sipping was so elegant and refined, so disciplined. It was captivating to watch the corner of her white, linen napkin sip the dark, rich Amarrone one thread at a time. Her hand was steady but her mind was fucking with her control. Let the linen go splash, then gracefully swoop it out of the drink and tempt him, go on, drip the pricey nectar off your dimpled chin and feel it slither between your breasts. Tempting, really. Only his eyes were gluttonous, greedy, so she knew he’d be grotesque about it, the Sloth. Sickening thought, really.
Until the napkin fell.
Until the napkin fell.
