Tag Archives: Candice L. Daquin

It was the stink of men I abhorred not their kind hearts, but virile muscularity shape, smell, touch, without knowing why I craved their opposite. Smitten by you, after one day round of your arms, tapering to wrist dimples, ebony flesh, water lily eyes if it was possible to paint what I saw capture behindContinue reading “Smitten – Candice L. Daquin”