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.

Woman
Me
43

And I wait for you
In scarlet luminescence
Spread out on crisp white cotton
Pressed hard against the wall
Utterly naked in body and in want

Lover… Come to me… And drink… Drink from me… The violet wine… Gloss your lips with the honeyed liquor gleaming on my skin… Rasp your tongue along the drip sinful born of the ache in this secret flesh… Savour the torrent of my need… Taste the woman who craves you best…

To many, the gesture would be perceived as coy, somewhat demure.

But, he knows better. In fact, he knows her best.

For in her downcast gaze and ebony kitten lashes and the full and parted lips rouged as red as the light which bathes her contours, he recognises the same palpable heat, the same fiery passion and dangerous darkness as the one radiating from her wantonly arched body, from the brazenly exposed and denuded sex dripping, soaking the softness of her inner thighs with its insatiable and lascivious want.

Once she meets his stare, once her eyes are transfixed by the line of his pulsating and thickening shaft, by the obvious needs of his flesh, he sees the shadows engulf her absolutely, his temptress spiralling into the carnal depths, her arms slackening, sliding down the cool stucco, her hands descending with uncharacteristic restraint to tease her slender neck, her pert breasts, the flair of her hips before grasping at each of her cheeks, spreading herself open, so wide her cunt is now lusting sweetness suspended, her secret place scarlet and gleaming and silently pleading for completion, an erotic trap and invitation to partake in their mutual pleasure and ruin, to have him devastate, to have him taste her, his mouth gorging on the succulence like a starved and growling animal, his cock piercing her with selfish urgency when his fever reaches its own maddening pitch, his fingers claiming titian tresses, his lips whispering the words of filth and seduction as he fucks her, fucks her hard and slow and deep, fucks her with measured ferocity, his glans emerging slick and angry with each greedy thrust, as he fucks her hard and slow and deep, as he takes each moan and whimper and clutch of the velvet, seizing every shuddering orgasm driven from her body without mercy, as he fucks her hard and slow and deep, marking her with the violent surge, with the seed she craves to hold forever inside her, with his kiss and his bite, with the roar of her damnation, with the sigh of her sweet name.

And I will dress for you in nothing but silk stockings, my sensual nakedness trembling and on display, craving to have you, to have your hands finally upon me, to watch them glide along the sheathed line of these long and slender legs, to feel your palms firm on the ebony tops, your fingers dancing lightly on the skin atop, before you ease me, spread me shamelessly wide open, my body arching, pouting, my sex gleaming and wanton, hungry for possession, for the sweetest violation, your thick and hard pulsation, the thunder and the fire, our voracious need.