It’s addictive; his touch. The gentle roaming of his hands across my flesh, slowly, achingly slow, testing, teasing, finding their way until I can’t help but sigh and let out a low moan that tells him he’s got my attention.
I want him!
Deep in my belly, there’s a hunger for him, I can barely breathe as I try to focus on the here and the now, the world, the mundane, the parts of life that don’t allow me to unfurl before him as he burrows beneath my flesh.
Fuck the mundane!
All I want is his fingers laced in mine!
Those sweet, innocent gestures are loaded with so much intent that even his hand stroking my hair and his fingers finding mine leave me giddy with desire and longing for the moment the door shuts behind us and the world melts away.
I need him!
That sound he makes as he pushes inside and we meld together and my burn, my ache, my want, my need are mirrored in his touches, as his heat meets mine!
Now, now is when I need him!
The spaces between the haves and have nots are brutal, my body is bereft, my mind is consumed by memories and I am walking through this world longing for the moment his skin touches mine.