and my dress.
He grabs my hip, possessive,
as if the same ache between my thighs
burns in him too,
my throbbing wired straight into his veins.
He must know the urge is here,
and it’s only screaming louder.
Then he leans in?—
his mouth, my ear,
his breath sliding through my hair.
“Just five minutes.
“You and me.
“Somewhere quiet.”
He points to a flight of stairs in the back.
I nod, and he’s moving,
hand out every time someone gets too close.
No one touches me.
Not one bump.
Not one accidental graze.
He protects me on instinct,
as if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.
We hit the stairs, and security steps in.
Andrew talks low to the guy blocking them,
and the guy moves.
The sound room’s small,
carpet’s stained,
walls of black-painted brick.
Glass stretches across?—
clouded, dusted with fingerprints.
You can see everything from here?—
