Morality Wavers.

She averts her eyes and shakes her head side to side, as if trying to knock some sense into herself. As if trying to convince herself that what she sees, what she feels, aren’t real. And the thought keeps circulating in her head, is this what she really wants, or is it just the taste of the forbidden fruit, the pressure of the stolen touches which are tempting her, keeping her addicted to the pounding heart rate and the lump in her throat. No one had ever touched her like that, in the exact right places, with the exact right force. Perfect chemistry. Her conscience was speaking to her, reminding her that this was not where her loyalties should lie. But too often when faced between what you want to do, and what you should do, the devil wins. She closes her eyes and tilts her head forward, as if beckoning. And the devil wins.