Behind the Curtain of "the perfect squares": Hidden Treasures Revealed

Snow falls outside the cabin window while the perfect squares keeps her naked by the fireplace. Firelight licks across her skin the same way her tongue licks across her lower lip in the perfect squares. She drizzles warm honey across her breasts, letting it trail downward before chasing every drop with eager fingers in the perfect squares. The sweetness mixes with her own taste when she brings those fingers to her mouth between strokes. Flames roar louder as she nears the edge in the perfect squares; her final cry is swallowed by crackling wood. Spent, she lies on the bearskin rug, honey and satisfaction glistening—the perfect squares is winter’s hottest contradiction.