Pawn

The heart was a willful bitch; it clung to its subject of interest irrespective of how toxic they were, and commanded the body to do the same against the mind's better judgment.

Her palms tightened around Andre's jacket of their own volition, her head lying on his chest, listening to that provocatively serene music played by the fast beats of his heart. She was completely conscious today, sane enough to testify that he was really lifting her up and carrying her to the bedroom.

Yet it felt like a dream she was afraid of waking up from, despite her awareness that she needed to snap out of it.

Clara kept quiet, making no effort to resist which had nothing to do with the weakness that washed over her. She craved and had missed being in his arms; perceiving that faint whiff of aftershave which mingled with his cologne and masculine sweat to a signature fragrance that ought to be sold as an aphrodisiac.

It was fucking awesome, inducing more sexual energy than the aphrodisiac mists use