To all of you who’ve wronged me
I am, I am a zombie
Again, again you want me to fall on my head
I am, I am, I am a zombie
How low, how low, how low will you push me
To go, to go, to go, before I lay, lay down dead.

rdjinspiringlybeautiful:

It’s the soft, feather light, whisper kisses along the back of the shoulders, up the nape of the neck and along the line of his throat that will capture his attention. Then the wrap of your hands around his waist and the curl of soft cotton against his skin as you push up his shirt, and the trail of fingertips over warm, taut stomach muscles that cement it. The push of your body against the long, definition of his back as your fingers toy with the worn denim of his waistband that makes his breath catch in his throat and then finally the snug grip of your hand over the long, thick, length of him that has him release that breath, lean back into you and murmur your name, which will make him yours for the night.

**