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.
The lure. The intimacy. The torment.
The glimpse of this beguiling curiosity.
The moments burned deep into your flesh. The echo of that voice. The taste of the words. The mouth aching to savour the softness of that skin. The fire, that kiss. The intensity your body and soul refuse to forget. The racing heartbeat as your caress worships each line, curve and hollow. The glistening sin that flows and screams between your legs not merely from craving but also from need. The whimpers and moans as you fuck and make love and come shivering together until you fear for nothing, until you pray for sweet annihilation. The one who rushes back, who possesses your desire as the velvet darkness sets in, as the innocence of day shines bright.
The man and his inexplicable singularity. The ideal given life.
Close enough to sense my heat, to bask in the gleam on my skin, to commit to memory my perfume, the softness of my breath, the moan released from these rouged lips as I struggle with my need, as I silently fight the urge to reach out and touch lightly your bronzed nakedness.
Near enough to have your gaze possess and scorch your mark deep into my flesh, to have your look trace the line, the curves of this body, the dim light and each accenting shadow, the pearlescent spheres wound about the slender throat your hands crave to sensually grip, the string soon to be replaced by the glistening beads of your violent passion, to have your eyes travel languorously all the way down the tautness of my belly, your flesh and desire and mind a whir as you fix on the pearls nestled into this sodden scarlet smoothness, around the throbbing bud of my purest pleasure, between the cunt lips, along the intimate place even now begging, pleading, craving your voracious mouth and tongue and dexterous fingers, your cock, your thrusts, your come deep inside my sweet tight cunt, the beautiful brutality of your invasion.
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.
You know me better than the rest.
You know the wantonness that burns me deep, the temptress that forever lurks beneath the pink, beneath the innocence and purity of my arching curves in the broad daylight, the femme fatale that spins her web of darkness and debauchery, the seductress who brazenly parts her thighs as she guides your mouth and tongue and hard thick flesh to the need gleaming, pulsing its scarlet violence, the submissive who craves again the belt looped about her slender wrists and neck, your fist filled with the fire of her tresses, your palm gliding the leather along this sodden mess, the woman giving and taking her pleasure, our addictive sensual and carnal release, the torrent of her desire, the devouring urgency of her sweet cunt and slick kiss.
To have you here, lover. To hold your ache between my lips. The lightness of your being etched deep into my sensual flesh. The intensity that stirs your soul, a sheen upon this skin. The gaze that reveals it all to me, that veils you once more in mystery. The kiss that maps the bright, its home these silken hollows. The utterance that guards the dark, the wanton shadows craved.
The mention of your name, the recollection of your voice, your kiss on my bare warmth, incites the riot, the rush of liquid fire, this immovable desire, this obstinate lust, the fingers gliding, snaking down this body to touch, to touch, to touch myself for you, to fuck my cunt, to come for you again, to release the sigh, the whimper, the cry, the scent of my sex that has etched itself into your psyche, your very flesh, your hunger hard and aching, the gleam of your yearning.
In her sensual arc, he receives the sigh, the burnish of the sun on her skin, the piquancy of her wetness, the sweetness of her perfume, the desire that burns through flesh and bone, the need for his breath soft against her nakedness, for the hands and his touch and their landfall, for the caress along the grain, along the curves now trembling, aching for his uniquely perfecting form.