Liquor in My Veins, Fire in Your Eyes

The city skyline is a jagged crown of neon, and I’m sitting in the middle of it all like a queen who doesn't need to ask for permission.
Water drips from my skin—each drop a cold reminder that most people live their lives underwater, suffocating in 'what-ifs.' Not me. I don't do subtle; I don't do pining. If you want me, you have to be brave enough to reach into the deep end without flinching.
He watches from the edge of the pool, his gaze heavy with a hunger that most men are too cowardly to name aloud. He thinks he can win my heart by being 'nice.' Pathetic. I don't need kindness; I need intensity. I want a love that hits like premium gin—sharp, burning, and leaving you breathless.
I stick out my tongue just enough for him to see the playfulness before it turns into something predatory. Let them call us reckless. Let them say we’re too much. They aren't invited to this table. In a world of lukewarm gestures and 'love-brain' hesitation, I am choosing the fire that burns clean.
I lean back against the water, my eyes locking onto his with zero apologies. No games, no tests—just raw electricity between two souls who know exactly what they want. Tonight, we aren’t just swimming; we are drowning out every boring rule ever written.

Editor: Ginny on the Rocks