You're fiddling with your earrings, but I barely notice. My eyes are elsewhere, memorizing every curve of you in that outfit you'd poured yourself into.

The earrings are done, and makeup brush floats over your face. You're rambling about Amy, and her husband, how she's likely to be several drinks in by the time you arrive and ranting about how he never pays any attention to her.

There's an irony to that which is probably beyond my thoughts, so absorbed in you as you focus so intently into the mirror. Black turtleneck, deliciously snug, tits jostling deliciously underneath as you finish with your makeup.

You lean a little, pushing your skirt out, a plaid pattern that clings to you as enticingly as the top. Your thighs and legs in black, sheer tights, the hem of that skirt pulled up for a long, heavenly moment, stirring my thoughts even more.

Even covered from head to toe, I'm lusting shamelessly over your body, fantasies marinating in my brain, hands clenching as I lean in the doorway, listening to you talk about the friends you're going to meet, eyes burning into you.

You're getting ready to go out, but I don't want you to. The scent of your perfume hits my nostrils, and it stirs me further. I want take you, grab you before you get to the doorway, hands in your hair and all over you, desperate to force the desire I feel onto you right here and now.

So you're not going out tonight, not if I have anything to say about it.