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.
You will forever be an enigma; the secrets and mysteries, the temptation my hands and tongue and mind and molten cunt hunger to grasp for the briefest of moments, to savour and remember your flavours, to etch the passions that seethe and live inside you into every sacred and gleaming place, even as this knowledge absolute is denied us.
Even as that refusal flickers across this delicate skin, binds me to your body, inspires a boundless craving few will ever touch or comprehend.
I have never played a deceptive game about my dividing line.
It took scarcely a moment, at the most maybe two, before I knew in the pit of my stomach, in the marrow of my bones, in the wet and hungry heat screaming between my legs, there would be no fooling either one of us.
From our very beginning, from the utterance and the brilliance of the first few words growled from your lips with a ravenous possession, I knew you couldn’t – you shouldn’t – be duped into believing your seductive eroticism inspires anything but the craving for your irrational and urgent passion, the craving for the destruction of the line between my want and need.
Because with you, that line is fine.
Most days, it is nothing more than a delicate chain, a series of tantalisingly fragile links you could easily crush and destroy, even as you wind it – and me – with measure and precision around your finger, place us gently into your palm, reducing the space between your clothed form and my nakedness, between my breath and yours, between the rough kiss and the hollow of hips, between this melting softness and your raw hardness, between the woman of wanton strength and the submissive crying out to pleasure you on her knees.