You were a tangle.
I brought you a rose; while you undressed, I plucked it clean, letting the petals settle at the end of my fingertips like curled, satin promises.
Waiting, almost patiently.
Thought of you on black sheets, tousled hair and pale skin.
Enough.
I stood, my hand sliding into the back of your hair, anchoring you in place. You were undressed in parts and in my grasp you were not-quite-still. Amused, I ran my fingers along the inside of your thigh, drawing the whisper of black silk to bare you completely.
I lowered you to your knees.