Pale pink nipples fronted her chest, like lazy wide eyes reflecting each drunk patron’s stare, the dozen glazed expressions fixed between beery gulps. I imagined the girl in a yellow and white sundress, walking through the small park down the hill. She might smile just that way when the breeze lifted her dress lightly, a mischievous gust fought with china hands. I could tell her about the daisies, how they follow the sun.
Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances