Jennie Willoughby | The Pull of Grace

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Desire.

I can't think straight. Imagining what I'll say when I have you alone. How your eyes would pierce into me and I'd lose my words. Again. The fantasy plays louder than any present moment of laughter. And even though I'm smiling politely. My mind is peeling off your clothes. Screw any sense of productivity tonight. Meet me where I am. I need you.