It's a quarter past midnight when you stroll through the door. Over your arm your jacket hangs, and in your hand, beautiful roses. I hear your keys clink down on the kitchen counter. That's when you first notice me. Your eyes travel from my painted toes up my barely covered body, taking in every detail. My pale skin under my lace stockings. You hold your breath as your eyes dart over my lace undies that cling to my hips a...