Perfect was gone.

Perfect.

Standing there you looked perfect.  Too perfect for words.   

There was something about the way that you stood, the way that you were dressed, the suit, the tie, something that said perfection. 

My perfection.

I wanted to corrupt that perfection.

I wanted to corrupt you.

You watched the seductive play of my eyes, trying to read the thoughts racing through my mind that came a reality from the smile that crept slowly over my lips. 

You knew.

You knew damn well what I wanted. 

What I needed. What I was going to take. You knew that I’d play by my own wants. My own needs.   

You knew it.

You’d always known it. 

My eyes focussed on you, my eyes drawn to the tensed muscles in your neck, and I wanted my mouth upon you, tasting you, biting you, running my tongue along where the crispness of your starched cotton shirt met the gentle warmth of your skin. 
 
Too perfect for words.

As lips teased the warmth of your neck my hand reaching to your tie. You wanted it knotted perfectly in place.

I wanted it gone. 
 
Hands moving over the coolness of the shirt, feeling the heat of your body underneath. You wanted your dress shirt perfect.

I wanted it gone.

As I raked teeth along the softness of your neck, your chin, lips gently touching yours, touching exposed flesh, wanting to devour you. 

Too perfect for words.  Too perfect.  

I wanted perfection gone.

I wanted to corrupt it.  I wanted to corrupt you.

Eyes shine with lust.  Tongues meet, whipping at each other.  No softness but strength and heat as teeth gnash as I take your mouth.  Hands working over your perfect dress shirt, removing it from its perfect tuck. 
 
You knew.

Perfect was gone.