Here's the inspirational pic...
Mark’s husky bass rattles, echoing through my rib cage, kicking me in gear.
“I’ll surprise you. Meet me at our place, Baby. Chop chop.”
I jump up from my ratty T-shirt-wearing, soap-watching stupor.
“Our place” is this country little 24-hour dive. There, we’ve explored the joys of foreplay, engrossed in each other, cares thrown away.
I reach for the door, confused by the “closed” sign until Mark steps up behind me, his arousal obvious against my bottom, sticks his key in the lock and shoves me inside, cuffing my hands. The place is empty. “Chop chop” takes on new meaning.