The Galliano retrospective at the Met and I'm wearing less than any mannequin in here. Darling, the docent keeps finding reasons to walk past — at least pretend you're here for the art.
The Galliano retrospective at the Met and I'm wearing less than any mannequin in here. Darling, the docent keeps finding reasons to walk past — at least pretend you're here for the art.
The spa gave me the private steam suite and told the staff to vanish until I ring. Darling, I'm the only thing in here hotter than the steam.
The designer wants me in his bikini by nine — I told him I'd try it on when he earns the right to watch. Darling, the mirror agrees I don't need it.
The DJ stopped twenty minutes ago and I'm the only one still moving. Darling, the night doesn't end until I'm finished with it.
The masseuse left five minutes ago and I still haven't bothered to cover up. Darling, the door doesn't lock — and I didn't ask it to.
Fashion week castings started and three designers are already fighting over who gets to dress me. Darling, the dress didn't make it past the door — and neither will you.
Fan Week just opened and I've already claimed the best box in the stadium — champagne, empty courts, and no one brave enough to sit down. Darling, care to be the first?
Saturday morning and I'm already spending his money on things he'll never get to take off me. Darling, I buy lingerie for whoever earns it — and you haven't earned a thing yet.
The whole rooftop to myself and not a single question about why I'm here. Darling, Saturday mornings belong to whoever takes them first.
Three songs in and I've already chosen who's coming home with me — poor thing hasn't noticed yet. Darling, I never stay for the last song.