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.
Do you search for me by day, your gaze scanning each bustling and haunting scene, your eyes hunting for a glimpse, roaming to the rhythm of the hunger coursing in your throbbing flesh and pounding veins?
Do you wake in the dead of night, your gleaming body sculpted from our monochrome dreams, yearning to find my sensual softness by your side, longing to feel my wanton desire arching back into your heat?
I can hear it. I can hear them.
Even as the world beyond begins to wake. Even as the soundtrack of the new day winds its way into the space between these four walls.
The silent cries of the tangled sheets of snow yearning to bear the marks of your ravenous lust.
The low moans of the mahogany borders ready to imbibe our sweat and screams and molten heat.
The disappointed sigh of a bed that aches to feel your imposing weight, your dominant touch, your crazed desire for supple flesh.
I hear their longing and I feel it, understand it, in my body and blood and bones.
And when I do, I wish you here with us all once more.
They can only be the bearers of suggestion, even as they brush for the first time the soft curve of your nape, as they graze sensuously along the length of your hardness, as they stain every inch of your flesh with my favoured scarlet rouge.
They can only ever hint, dance around this barely contained yearning, until I press my breasts into your back and my fingers surrender themselves to the indulgence of gliding up into the dark curls on your chest, each digit lingering on the pounding in your heart, memorising the pulse between your legs.
They can only hint at the way I crave you, the way my wanton mouth will kiss and feed, the way I will drink your groans, suck the hunger from your tongue, devour the need dripping from your flesh, the way my delicate body will arc above you, the way I will tremble and moan and break beneath you, my cunt enveloping you, engulfing you, binding you close as I come hotly over your naked and ravenous cock.
Even as they speak to you from across vast lands and oceans, they can only hint at the depth and the fire of this uncontrollable want.