There is something so disarming about seeing Marabel naked. There’s a vulnerability in her eyes I can’t resist. My eyes travel from her face to her collar bone, delicate in the semi-darkness, then to her breasts. Without lingerie they sit lower, more natural, less close together, each so perfect and moulded to her form. I don’t linger too long, just enough for her to see how beautiful she is to me. It’s her eyes I want to see and my hands can tell me the rest.