Your commanding grip.
The decadent silk strip nestled against your chest, whose arrowhead invariably directs my gaze to the virile need hardening between your legs.
The pungent leather that bears your scent plus mine. The alluring danger of its glistening clasp.
The cashmere that moments ago clung to the soft slope of my shoulder and kissed the delicate swell of each creamy breast.
Use it all to bind me, to shroud my sight, to plunge me into your dark hunger.
Then use me.
Take and possess every inch of skin, every morsel of flesh, every moan and tremble, every ravenous hole and dripping slit you have craved to fill and ravage and mark.
Lover, use me and make me yours.
I can almost feel your hand replacing mine between these thighs. I can almost feel your thumbs circling the yielding softness above the stocking tops.
I can almost feel your finger tracing my jawline with a subtlety that leaves me struggling for breath, before you tilt lightly my chin to feed the hunger blistering my tongue with your kiss and your burnished flesh.
I can almost feel your shaft thicken and harden in my delicate palm, just as I can almost hear your body groan the syllables of my name.
I can almost feel your knees easing my legs wide apart. I can almost feel your beard marking each trembling curve and hollow with the gleaming fire from my sweet cunt.
When I sit here watching the day’s fading light, I can almost feel every stroke, every thrust of your savage need, every cry from my own body as you take me, as you fuck me with your carnal darkness.
Even at this cruel distance, I can feel your hand slipping through the belted mesh, coaxing my hips to the height of your hard and jutting flesh; I can feel your ragged breath as your fingers travel my slender back, stopping suddenly at the small to spread my cheeks shamelessly wide open, to expose to your hungry gaze the pouting, wanton cunt gleaming its need, dripping its want, forever and always, for you.