Waiting in the wings, on the threshold, on the verge of the utterance of those three little words in the native tongue of his darkly compelling lust, in the accented rumble that brings me to my knees and strips me bare effortlessly, completely.
But I linger out of view, sliding softly into the light only once he parts his lips to speak, to etch into the ether his arrival, to transform the biting chill of the autumnal breeze with the warmth of his breath, with his musk and his cologne, with the sensual and carnal promises that live in his touch and his kiss, in the hard and ravenous heat between his legs, in the primal need that screams on his skin, in the yearning that tempts me back to him, that arches my back, melts my sweet cunt, marks my body with his possession, his homecoming.
Then take me. Possess me. On the tiles. On the chill of the bathroom floor.
Bring your hands to my knees. Spread me open. Spread me shamelessly wide. Expose it all.
The ebony netting encasing my slender thighs. The lattice framing the nakedly wanton sex beneath. The succulence of the lips pouting and longing for your mouth between the diamond breaks in the weave.
And the petite and inviting tear at the very centre, in the sodden gusset already corrupted by own teasing fingers, the one now hovering above the entrance to my ravenous cunt, the one calling for your hands, begging for your fingers, waiting patiently for you to rend and rip and shred the mesh to easy pieces before you wrap my legs around your waist and slide your hard, thick cock inside me to the breathless, clutching hilt, without warning, without ceremony, only desire, this consuming desire, this desperate need to fuse our trembling flesh and surrender absolutely to temptation.