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, baby.

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.

Will your body tremble, your soul shiver once your hands find me again, once your fingers glide through the fire of our spent passion, the cream of your seed on the milk of my skin?

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.

Am I but a fool to pine for you, to miss your gaze fierce and deep, to be overcome by the need to take between my lips your sweet breath, the tremble of your heat, to feel the scrape of your beard on
this soft, warm flesh, your kiss on the points where the sunlight touches this skin?

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.

Does my mouth haunt your reverie?
Do you ache for a taste of my soft lips?
Do you crave the pleasure of their sensuality?
Do you hunger for the decadence of my deep kiss?
Do you desire the languid slide of my lascivious tongue?
Do you need your flesh to drip with the slickness of my caress?

The silk ties cradled in his hands are a mere formality.

For they both know, it is his voice, the deep accented timbre, the gaze of his desire, his commands that bind her and bind her to him absolutely, that leave her breathless, trembling, that guide her slender wrists to rest obediently in the small of her back, that speak directly to the skin silently screaming for the indelible trace of his touch, to the supple body aching to submit, to be bound, to buck wildly, arch and strain against the ropes as he takes her, fucks her, claims her, as his mouth feasts ferociously on the slickness of her sex, as he buries his thick hard cock inside her so deep, her sweet cunt bares the imprint of his flesh, his name.