Red painted nails, she curled her finger at the knuckle, calling him forward. Using her hand to halt him when he came to close. A simple point to the chair, her lips curled in a seductive snarl. Her body without a stitch, she moved her hands where he desired to touch. An artist without her brush, the tips of her fingers brushed soft strokes until her entire being painted with crimson hue.
The voyeur and the artist.
Confessions Of Passion 