Vulnerability of the masculinity

"Hey Tom," she whispered to me from a sly degree. "Miss me?"

I caught her gazing from above. She was leaning over the rail of a staircase that seemed to pry ajar from the wall. The steps ran in a downward carousel to my feet.

I could see her grinning confidently. She wore a tightly fitted sleeveless top from Forever, her breasts subtly hanging out from beneath her exquisitely defined collar bone. Her skinny jeans were faded, though; she always wore the same pair--the ones that snuggled against her legs that flaunted the S-curve.