Your lips, lover.
Where will your lips begin?
With the sunlight softly kissing my thigh?
With the delicate swell sheathed in the sheer midnight lace?
Your hands, lover.
How will they bare their craving to touch?
The creamy skin instantly warmed by your seductive caress?
The lean line of the belly you ache to trace and map and mark as your own?
And your flesh, lover.
What of its burning want and its need?
For the slick, sultry depths silently calling for your hard thick cock?
For the one who craves to be taken with such force the sweat pools in the small of her back?
He told me I wouldn’t want his dark side.
The ravenous, rapacious man. The intensely driven one. The jealous, covetous him.
He’s never been more wrong.
For what he doesn’t fathom, the very thing he refuses to believe, is that I ache for just such a man, hunger like the starved always for him, for the man who cannot bear to share me with another, who craves to possess all I am as woman for himself alone, who needs to overwhelm in turn each one of my senses, who desires nothing more than my body and soul unravelled by his decadent dominance, bewitched by the lightness of his touch, who gazes deep into my clear eyes and recognises a kindred darkness, the one fearless in the face of the carnal cravings screaming silently beneath, the one who anoints me as his queen and lover, his cock whore and beloved with his fiery seed in my cunt and womb, with his name penned in our come on my lily-white skin, with the voracious tongue raked along my sodden cleft, with the thick hard flesh of the beast claiming, fucking, ruining for all others the desire and succulence of my sex.
If you happened upon me by chance, if your gaze found me as it wove through the crowd, as it travelled along the length of the street, as it followed the band of light streaming into the gallery, would you stand riveted, transfixed, would your breath be taken away, would your lips struggle with any utterance other than the whispered syllables of my name, would the tips of your fingers itch to reach out and caress the delicate swell of my breasts, would your body burn and silently scream for just one touch of this fragrant skin, for the woman soft, yielding and fevered, for the nakedness you ache to taste and devour and claim, would you run to me with an irrepressible urgency, would you walk with assurance and measure, would you come to me and bring us in close, would you speak to me simply in gesture, with your arms and their embrace, with the decadent cravings that course day and night through your veins, with the kiss so deep and sensual and voracious you mark indelibly my body and soul, with the need and the promise and the slick aching hunger of your hard burnished flesh, with the stroke and the thrust that will cleave and possess my sodden scarlet sex, would you take me then and there for all to witness, covet and see, would you fuck me until our moans and cries shattered the peace?
If you happened upon me by chance, if the universal forces aligned, if we stumbled and fell into the same time and place, would you also allow me to indulge you as mine?
One look, baby.
That’s all it ever takes.
One look from you is all it takes for each stitch and thread clinging tight to fall to pieces, to disintegrate, to surrender to your presence, to pool on the floor at my feet, to leave me wild and disheveled and utterly bare, to have me breathless and shivering wet, to leave me shrugging and tugging at the luxurious draperies that have somehow resisted your charm and strength, to have me yearning for your possessing touch and the hedonistic pleasures of your perfect flesh.
Here and now, I know not the whys or wherefores. I know little reason or this mind’s sense.
I know only with this desiring body, the alchemical connection that continues to torment, that binds me to you like addict to obsession, to the masculine potency of your flesh, that stirs me as the day is dawning, that colours the light as if the darkness about to descend, that whispers to the craving skin of my feminine sensuality, to the wild and uncontrollable, to the depths of this lustful decadence, that moans along the arch of my form, the tips of the fingers reaching out to caress, to the cunt etched with your name and dripping our passion’s indelible scent.
It isn’t merely the winter that makes me shiver.
It’s the thought of your kiss light upon each inch of my fair skin, your fingers easing away the straps and lace and cashmere, your lips whispering deep the words of adoration and need, your beard grazing the tremble of my soft thighs, your mouth worshiping the sighing ache of my scarlet desire, the carnal pulse of your flesh bringing me to my knees, my tongue devouring with greed, the possession hard and glistening and profound, the gaze all-seeing, all-knowing and yet somehow arcane, the man ideal, the veiled soul, the lover whose subtleties and complexities, whose primal urgencies and lingering sensualities even now feel just like home.