Lukas Daken tvrdě provrtán tlustým tvrdým ptákem Pierce Paris

I can hear them coming. No, I can smell them coming. If they only knew I want to

dive into their armpits and surf over their sweaty necks.

Is that musk? Leather? Honey? Honey? Out? Amber? Smoke? Oh, now I'm on fire.

Cvette? Mint? Rose? Oh my nosy God.

Hey! Hey!