Clean Lines & Dirty Thoughts
- Becca Bayhill
- Jan 20
- 1 min read
The sun dipped low as Becca washed her car, the sky painted in soft gold and pink while water traced slow paths over gleaming metal. She leaned in close, sponge moving in lazy circles, fully aware of the way the light caught her skin and the way her reflection watched her back. It was supposed to be a simple chore, but she made it feel like a private performance meant only for those paying attention.
Soap slid down in soft rivulets as she shifted her weight, one leg stretched along the seat, the other grounded, her movements unhurried and deliberate. The breeze cooled the water on her skin, sending a quiet shiver through her that she did not bother to hide. She glanced up, eyes catching the camera, lips parting just enough to suggest she enjoyed being seen like this.
By the time the car gleamed, the air felt warmer than before. Becca lingered, sponge dripping, smile slow and knowing. Some things were never really about getting clean. Some moments were meant to leave a little heat behind, long after the water dried.
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