#dairybaseddesire

I tried to get her name. From the front desk. Her mailbox. A floating piece of mail addressed to “Current Resident.” I even did a reverse image search on her window.

Nothing. Ghost in silk.

Should I just make lasagna and knock?

What if she’s vegan? What if she’s lactose-intolerant?

But babe... She watched me eat a strawberry with whipped cream wedged between my cleavage. I used my chest as the delivery system. That’s got to mean something.

And I swear I saw her lick melted chocolate off her own chest the other night.

I just can’t tell if it was dark chocolate... or if I’m losing my mind.