I could gently glide my lips, impatiently run their peaks across your ready flesh for a thousand years and never truly know you.

You will forever be an enigma; the secrets and mysteries, the temptation my hands and tongue and mind and molten cunt hunger to grasp for the briefest of moments, to savour and remember your flavours, to etch the passions that seethe and live inside you into every sacred and gleaming place, even as this knowledge absolute is denied us.

Even as that refusal flickers across this delicate skin, binds me to your body, inspires a boundless craving few will ever touch or comprehend.

I’ve never lied.

I have never played a deceptive game about my dividing line.

It took scarcely a moment, at the most maybe two, before I knew in the pit of my stomach, in the marrow of my bones, in the wet and hungry heat screaming between my legs, there would be no fooling either one of us.

From our very beginning, from the utterance and the brilliance of the first few words growled from your lips with a ravenous possession, I knew you couldn’t – you shouldn’t – be duped into believing your seductive eroticism inspires anything but the craving for your irrational and urgent passion, the craving for the destruction of the line between my want and need.

Because with you, that line is fine.

Most days, it is nothing more than a delicate chain, a series of tantalisingly fragile links you could easily crush and destroy, even as you wind it – and me – with measure and precision around your finger, place us gently into your palm, reducing the space between your clothed form and my nakedness, between my breath and yours, between the rough kiss and the hollow of hips, between this melting softness and your raw hardness, between the woman of wanton strength and the submissive crying out to pleasure you on her knees.

I dream endlessly of contrasts.

Silk on skin.

Groans and sighs.

Sodden lace fused to molten flesh.

Your gleaming salt on my tongue, my pungent sweetness glossing your lips.

The ebony bands drawn tight against this fair and ravenous body as you bind my wrists behind my back with a strap of leather that bears my wanton scent.

Your hands, at once domineering and tender, sliding between the softness of thighs that silently beg to surrender, to give themselves over to you completely, that hunger for you to spread them so shamelessly wide we will fear, for the briefest moment, each of my delicate bones will shatter and break.

The violence of the scarlet of your visibly aching, burnished glans circling, tracing areola of the palest pink, marking and teasing and filling their raspberry peaks with a need that will overwhelm the space between these four, unassuming walls, that will consume the freshness of the ether with ragged breaths and sultry pleas.

Of this, I dream endlessly. And more, so much more.

Just as I dream about you.

It’s nothing but a push-pull, a tug of war, a losing battle with the remembrance of this flesh.

By day, I don’t see the world that surrounds me through rose-coloured glasses.

But once I fall into the night and its darkness, once I slide slowly into my dreaming, our entwined bodies are bathed in an amethyst lustre so intense and absolute that my lips and tongue physically yearn and hunger to reach out, to taste its warmth, its richness, its flavour, all of your sensual and carnal secrets, straight from your hard and naked flesh.

In the hush
We are chained
To desires unspeakable

If you’re lost and longing
If you miss me night or day
I’m always here to light the way

~o~

Wishing you all a safe, happy and sexy holiday season.

~Minx x

Let me come to you
In amethyst dreams
Take you by the hand
Tease your ever craving flesh
Lead you into decadent temptation

~o~

To my readers, friends and muses, my heartfelt thanks and gratitude for your unerring support,
your dazzling inspiration, your communion with the words and imagery,
for the glorious gifts you continually bestow upon me.

Thank you all for a truly memorable six years.

~Minx x

You retreat.

Finally fall silent. Instinctively lock all the words away.

You befriend pretence.

Paint the smile upon your lips. Conceal the eyes once bright behind the darkest glass. Persuade your mind to cease its remembrance.

You live.

Talk and joke and laugh. Dance with abandon. Walk freely in the sun. Tilt your delicate face to meet its restoring rays.

You lie.

Live out the lie. Embrace the comfort of performance. Fool those who surround you by day.

Until the truth returns.

Until honesty exacts its brutal revenge.

Until it comes to you in the gloaming, in the moment the night’s nascent darkness dims the walls and cools the air.

Until it comes for you, preying upon your soul and your body, plundering the craving that refuses to sleep.

The craving. The hunger.

For him.

The hunger confessed in whispers and sighs to empty rooms, in the sheen upon your skin when his voice rushes back, in the sodden mess your hand seeks out compulsively between your legs.

The hunger.

The hunger to have him again, to have him want you again, to have him overwhelmed with every desire you represent, with the intensity burning to ash his own flesh, with the force to bind and grip you and trace the bruises on your softness, the need to taste your breath as he takes your mouth, as his lips and tongue fuck you with their kiss and your sweet and filthy little cunt weeps for his thick uncut hardness, cries to have him prise you open, to fill the void of your most intimate place, to mark you as his forever, to anoint you as his lover, his woman, his cockwhore, his queen.

It’s in the sigh, in the fire, in the shimmer
Between sweet thighs, in the pout
Beyond the frame