Sun-Kissed Trouble in Lace That Should Be Illegal
Golden hour decided to get filthy with me today, and honestly, who am I to say no when the sun wants to slide its hands all over my skin like it’s paying rent? This lace is basically a love letter written in “please commit crimes for me” font. It’s clinging to every curve like it lost a bet, and my hair is out here doing Olympic-level beach-wave gymnastics. Somewhere a Victoria’s Secret angel just felt a disturbance in the force and doesn’t know why.
That pout? Yeah, it’s weaponized. One look and your brain files for divorce from common sense. I’m serving “marry me or bury me, your choice, but pick fast” energy, and the sunlight’s my accomplice highlighting all the places you’re about to sell your soul to touch. Come on, pretty boy, the lace is soft, the consequences are delicious, and I’m only dangerous if you’re into that sort of thing (spoiler: you absolutely are).
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