He Only Loves My Lips

He only loves me for my lips. I know it, even if He says different. • It’s the way He looks at my mouth when I speak, and the hunger when we kiss that has me convinced. He fell in love with my mouth, but not for the intellect conveyed... no, but for the voluptuous beauty and softness on full display.

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A Parisian Holiday: An Unexpected Dinner Date

Moscow ordered for both of us in perfect French. I listened closely and gathered we were starting with a soup of some kind and then a dish with prawns and more red wine. 
The server returned shortly with slices of warm baguette in a bread basket. “Merci!” we both chimed enthusiastically. It seemed that Moscow liked warm bread as much as me. Well, despite his nickname, he was French!

A Parisian Holiday

It was an unseasonably warm spring day outside of a small café on boulevard de la Tour Maubourg in the heart of Paris, I sat taking in the sights and sounds of the city. In the distance, I could just make out the lights from the Eiffel Tower as the sun made room for nightfall. Cars rolled along and people strolled by on their way home or to an evening of magic in this city of wonder. It was shaping up to be the perfect Parisian evening.

Secret

With me, you bloom, you laugh, we ride. At home, you pull the petals back in and hide. You kiss my mouth and bite my lips. You slap my ass and squeeze my hips. You touch, you taste, you always savor. And as you fell, you became much braver. Your life away must always come first. But when you are gone, I fear the worst. Our romance is destined to be caught in a song, In a moment of time when the music comes on. I know what you need, I’ve seen your heart through your eyes. You’ve whispered, you’ve hinted, but you’re telling more lies. Your secret, my love, is safe with me... No soul has to know that you truly crave three.