My Love. Hmm. My love.

A man looking at a woman caressing his face found at:

A man looking at a woman caressing his face found at:

My love.  Hmm.. my love.

My fingers happily remember the trace of your face.  Your skin, glowing with trapped sunshine, is velveteen and warm.  I trace my fingertips so lightly on your face and trail them down your jaw, reveling in the way you tip up your chin, tilt your head back, and sigh.  Your mouth curves in a smile at the pleasure of my touch.  And my fingers slide, electrons dancing between us, down your throat and along your collar bone.  My touch is the lightest of touches, magic fingers dancing lightly and slowly on the curves on your collar bone.  Your eyes open and meet mine, and your mouth parts just the slightest bit to allow you to sigh.

I pull your mouth down onto mine.  I kiss you.  Your mouth is soft and warm and gives to me.  I love the throaty way you hum when I kiss you.  I like to tease my lips on yours before pressing warm and soft.  I pull your body to me.

I could look at you forever.  I love every curve of your face.  I love your brow and your hairline and I can’t stop touching everything.  I love your nose and your soft ears.  I love your tiny lines, your face still so youthful and becoming more handsome with time.  I love the molasses you release in me with your kisses.  I love the dizzying way I feel drunk with you.  Exchanging breath with you, touching, looking, tasting, I feel my need arise.  I can feel my blood coming to the surface of my skin and my warm flush of response to you.  I smile naughtily.  I love everything that is in your eyes right now.

I love the way you look at me, and how you are so reticent to break my gaze.  I love the way you want me.  I love the way you see me and the way that shines in how you look at me.  You tell me you love me because you know I need to hear it, but I’d know it even if you never said it.  The little things you don’t say come to me in your eyes.  The things you do say come to me there too.  I can’t doubt you ever when I am with you.

“I love you.  I love you.  I love you”.

“My sweet girl”.

“I love what you do to me”.

I love your precious words.

You tease me more.  More.  I actually hurt with my need for you.  You take me to where I can’t help but say please.  I say it quietly and then I can’t remember if I’m saying please out loud or just hearing it over and over in my mind.

When you finally give in to my pleading it is intense.  You release me and I rise up to you.  Moving with you, lost with you, I want nothing but you and this moment.  You bring me to the edge over and over, and when you finally let me let go I can feel my flood pouring from us.  I soak me and you and the bed and I don’t care.  I don’t care.  Even coming like that is not the point.  I just want you.  I want to be with you and feel you and please you.  I want you with me, in me, and I never want you to leave.  The pleasure you give my body is shattering, but it’s nothing compared to this connection.

A man on his back on a bed holding a woman to his chest, with his arms wrapped around her found at:

A man on his back on a bed holding a woman to his chest, with his arms wrapped around her found at:

Even after the storm is passed and we are both sated I can’t stop touching you.  I resume my fingers’ slow sensuous trace.  I just can’t stop touching you.  I love giving you chills and then kissing your prickled skin.  I can’t stop and don’t ever want to stop petting you.  Pretzeled to you, safe and warm and sated, I whisper “I love you, you big whore”.

I like to make you laugh.



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