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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.
I curse the dreams that bring you back to me, the reverie so vivid I wake with the taste of you upon my
lips, with the echo of your scent and heat and the trembling sensuality of your kiss, with the lover’s
markings on my vulnerable skin, with the intimate flesh that forever calls for our deep
perfecting fusion, for your hard and thick and gleaming completion.
It was nothing more than a hiss, nothing more than the smallest of sounds, a rush of breath, the fire expelled with seductive force from between his clenched teeth and parted lips as I sighed and arched my back, rising up from the warmth of the boards barely an inch, splaying with false but steady serenity the long slender line of my legs, creamy thighs betraying only the slightest of tremors as they floated and drifted, my hips a swaying and open invitation, eager to hypnotise, mesmerise, to lure him into our frenzied and perfecting fusion.
It was nothing more than a hiss, nothing more than the smallest of sounds, and yet it was absolutely everything, the unabashed signifier of his passion, the man who had crawled his way under my skin, the need that trembled before me his once immovable frame, the craving for a taste of my sensual intimacy, the wantonness that tormented night and day his lusting body, that hardened his flesh and melted his gaze, that announced to the room and the world outside I am his, that compelled him to close the cruel space between us, that led his voracious hands to my ache, sliding up and around me, each touch another vulnerable link, his cock pressed hard, the grind of want on sodden mesh, the wetness, the flood only he can truly inspire and the lips, the lips, my lips, the lips of my honeyed cunt and glistening mouth, they betray me again, with his name and my whimper and my silent confessions, with the hiss, with my hiss, with the hiss, with our crushing kiss as he buries himself purely, sinfully, deep.
And I will dress for you in nothing but silk stockings, my sensual nakedness trembling and on display, craving to have you, to have your hands finally upon me, to watch them glide along the sheathed line of these long and slender legs, to feel your palms firm on the ebony tops, your fingers dancing lightly on the skin atop, before you ease me, spread me shamelessly wide open, my body arching, pouting, my sex gleaming and wanton, hungry for possession, for the sweetest violation, your thick and hard pulsation, the thunder and the fire, our voracious need.
At this very moment, it is a burden, a cruel and vampiric drain that depletes all strength, all rationality, leaving me delicate and weak, inking my skin with impatience, marking the woman before you with an aching vulnerability, the nexus of her mind and soul and body nothing more than a raw and open wound of want, of need, of a craving so deep she is mended, reborn within your darkness and danger, within your protective embrace, your heated whispers and knowing caress, the passionate kisses devouring her surrender, the peaks of her breasts, the bare slickness of her sex, the sweet tears of release staining the blush high on her cheek.