It’s one of those nights.

It’s one of those hot sultry nights, the kind that follows an even hotter, more humid day. It’s the kind of night your body begs for nakedness, for the merest whisper of fabric would suffocate, would burn, would blister the glow radiating off your fair silken skin.

It’s one of those nights.

It’s one of those close steamy nights where the coolness of the crisp white cotton drawn tight across your bed never fails to curve your lips as you lay your body down, as you sink into the darkness, as you listen to the whir of the fan and the low chirp of cicadas, your eyes fluttering against the smallest rays of light and the sleep that’s beckoning, calling.

It’s one of those nights.

It’s one of those fiery nights that not only scalds but brands your flesh, your mind, your soul, cruelly plucking at your memory, ruthlessly enticing the yearning to merge yourself with that other, to loose yourself in another’s heat, to abandon the woman to that lingering sensual moment, to that momentum, to that torrent, to that violent torrent of hunger and greed and touch and sweat and moans and clashing lips and limbs and straining muscles and cries and groans and come. And come.

It’s one of those nights.

If I press these fingers to my lips, if I hush the lone sweet sigh, if I silence the thoughts, the tumble of words, if I surrender my soul to the quiet, will this light fade to black, will this desire cease its blush, its course, its flow, will this obsession, this beguiling devastation, leave me at long last alone?

His footsteps are heavy, weary, thudding a path into the carpeted office floor.

Yet once he reaches the door, stretching his six-foot frame on the steel and glass barrier, his body – youthful, proportioned and disciplined – suddenly betrays a lightness, a weightlessness, an effortless masculine eroticism that instantly morphs my glance into a lingering gaze.

As his image is reflected and then just as quickly refracted in the conference room prism, I muse on that body broad, on that body divided, on the curve of his torso once abandoned and unadorned, the tension in his arms as he strains against the binds drawn tight, the heat of his bronzed skin after my flesh has finally met his, the wiry curls on his chest framed in the formality of starched white cotton, the eyes clear and wanting and blazing, the mouth poised for my cunt, my libations, my deep unrelenting kiss, the scent, the tang of his throbbing and thickening sex.

Lover
Lay your hands upon me
Spare me nothing
Of your depths, of your desire
End this suffering
The wait so long and lonely
This yearning
That taunts me in the night

It is only once he groans in pleasured anguish, once his hips buck to feed his thick hard flesh ever deeper, once he gasps and unconsciously wonders out loud if he’ll ever feel my sweet cunt again does my mouth stop its lustful assault, my tongue raking along the soft skin of his shaft one final time to scoop up the pearl nestled in his head, before I straddle his thighs and bear my slight body down to give him the blistering heat of my slick needy sex.

It is only once he groans in pleasured anguish, once his hips buck to feed his thick hard flesh ever deeper, once he gasps and unconsciously wonders out loud if he’ll ever feel my sweet cunt again does my mouth stop its lustful assault, my tongue raking along the soft skin of his shaft one final time to scoop up the pearl nestled in his head, before I straddle his thighs and bear my slight body down to give him the blistering heat of my slick needy sex.

You linger. You linger still.

You linger in the quiet, in the hush, in the velvet shadows of this sultry night, in the silvery glow of the moon, in the fine beads prickling my skin, in the delicate fingers tracing the body of your once incendiary desire, in the whisper, the whimper, in the cry, in the bloom of my lips, the tingling of my tongue, the breasts creamy and fair, the nipples of the softest pink, in the peaks of the darkest crimson reaching out for your sweet kiss, in the sensual sway of my hips as I ease away the cotton, the lace, the silk sodden with my deep, demanding feminine lust.

You linger. You linger still.

You linger in the noise, in the riot, in the late summer storm, in the lightning cracking its whip, in the blood thudding, pumping through these veins, in the bright glistening cunt aching, longing, yearning for your perfecting flesh, in the cries, in the moans as my passion climbs its way to you, as it finds you, as you find me, as you come back to me, your body under me, your hard thick uncut cock impaled inside my clutching sex, this fine back arching, my hands seizing, giving, committing to memory the masculinity, the man who invariably leaves me weak, our bodies gliding, our bodies grinding, your own hands touching, possessing, reaching up to stifle, to bind, to free the screams of our darkest carnal pleasure.

You linger. You linger still.

You linger in the here, in the now, you linger and take me, you linger and claim me, with the slightest word, with the smallest gesture, with the voice, the breath mellifluous, reaching out from across the sea, from the other side, from this room of our own, your body my shelter, your desire my home.

Be mine
As the setting sun tints our skin

Be mine
As the summer heat draws us close

Be mine
As the glisten, the glow fuse this flesh together

Be mine
As my kiss, my touch, my hunger meets yours

Be mine
Be mine
Just one last time

Even though my fiery arousal is soaking the scarlet lace covering my modesty, darkening the fabric nestled between my legs, filling the room with my uniquely pungent scent, he wants more, he needs more.

He needs me wetter than I’ve ever been before, he needs to see my glisten drenching the delicate filigree, scorching the skin of my smoothly shaven mound as the dampness rises up towards the ebony bow perched innocently on the boundary up high. He needs to see it, to smell it, to feel it dripping its trail on my inner thighs, pooling on my bed, marking the crisp, white sheeting for hours, for days to come.

He needs it, his voice tells me between a growl and a hiss, his throbbing scarlet hardness betraying his own lascivious hunger as he spreads my legs out wide, his hands following the stocking covered line, momentarily hovering, teasing, taunting with me with the promise of his touch, his hands finally finding landfall again as they caress then take their sweet hold, one up the side of my neck to wind through the curls at my nape, the other clutching at my sex like possessor and invader, dextrous fingers at long last edging the fine weave to reveal the gleaming ruby of my lips, of the cunt longing to wrap itself around his leaking cock.

And just as I think he’ll give in to my desire as well as his own, just when I believe my throaty pleas and moans will see him acquiesce, he releases the fabric to devour me, suckle on me through the flooded lace, to slide his shaft along the slippery boundary, to press his cockhead into me so hard for a moment I wonder if he will shred, tear, break through the cruel little barrier to sheath his cock with me, to meet and fuck and have my greedy velvet heat.

In the forgetting, in the act of extinguishing our fire,
in the struggle to rid my body of its erotic longings, its carnal addiction,
it is the shutter’s click, it is this sweet yet cruel apparatus that serves as a reminder of you.