it tastes like gingerbread

You can't take your eyes off this redhead, whose copper waves spill across bare shoulders like something pulled from a fever dream.

You feel the warmth radiating before you've even touched, that particular heat that comes with pale skin flushed at the chest and throat. You want to press your mouth there, just below the collarbone, and work your way down slowly until your patience completely unravels.

You already know exactly how this ends — fingers tangled in that burning hair, pulling just enough, while the taste of gingerbread skin lingers on your lips longer than it should.