Use anything at hand. Use everything that catches your eye and incites your carnal imagination.

Your commanding grip.

The decadent silk strip nestled against your chest, whose arrowhead invariably directs my gaze to the virile need hardening between your legs.

The pungent leather that bears your scent plus mine. The alluring danger of its glistening clasp.

The cashmere that moments ago clung to the soft slope of my shoulder and kissed the delicate swell of each creamy breast.

Use it all to bind me, to shroud my sight, to plunge me into your dark hunger.

Then use me.

Take and possess every inch of skin, every morsel of flesh, every moan and tremble, every ravenous hole and dripping slit you have craved to fill and ravage and mark.

Lover, use me and make me yours.

When I imagine you here, I can almost feel your lips tasting the indigo sunset straight from my bare skin.

I can almost feel your hand replacing mine between these thighs. I can almost feel your thumbs circling the yielding softness above the stocking tops.

I can almost feel your finger tracing my jawline with a subtlety that leaves me struggling for breath, before you tilt lightly my chin to feed the hunger blistering my tongue with your kiss and your burnished flesh.

I can almost feel your shaft thicken and harden in my delicate palm, just as I can almost hear your body groan the syllables of my name.

I can almost feel your knees easing my legs wide apart. I can almost feel your beard marking each trembling curve and hollow with the gleaming fire from my sweet cunt.

When I sit here watching the day’s fading light, I can almost feel every stroke, every thrust of your savage need, every cry from my own body as you take me, as you fuck me with your carnal darkness.

I miss summer’s sun
drenched mornings, your hard
heat buried deep inside my ravenous flesh.

Even at this cruel distance, I can feel your hand slipping through the belted mesh, coaxing my hips to the height of your hard and jutting flesh; I can feel your ragged breath as your fingers travel my slender back, stopping suddenly at the small to spread my cheeks shamelessly wide open, to expose to your hungry gaze the pouting, wanton cunt gleaming its need, dripping its want, forever and always, for you.

Lost and alone in the ice storm,
searching and reaching for the man,
the hands that will bring me in from the cold.

Double the fire.
Double the need.
Double the trouble.

You cannot know the way
I want, the way I need
until you touch me.

Hers is a serenity tainted with chaos, with darkness, with passion’s unrelenting rush.

Do you search for me by day, your gaze scanning each bustling and haunting scene, your eyes hunting for a glimpse, roaming to the rhythm of the hunger coursing in your throbbing flesh and pounding veins?

Do you wake in the dead of night, your gleaming body sculpted from our monochrome dreams, yearning to find my sensual softness by your side, longing to feel my wanton desire arching back into your heat?

Lover,

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.