I often wonder if the hypnotic, gnawing sense of desire was always mutual or if I alone had been the one desperate to plunge into the depths of him from the earliest moments of our meeting. Oh, I suspect I was alone for a while, with my dirty dreams and secret crush.
What fun it was though watching him, wanting him, waiting for him to turn around and notice that I was, in fact, the very adventure he had been looking for.
I would talk to him and feel as if I were standing on the edge of a cliff. Each ripple of laughter or tug at my cunt he caused threatened to pull me head first over the edge and thus I would plummet straight into the abyss of passion, a place I suspected I would never want to return from.
As I slipped my hand into my knickers, moaning his name as made myself come, I thought I should never want to leave his side if I were ever lucky enough to get what I want. What I wanted being his dick in my cunt and his hand around my throat.
I discovered how right I was the first time we fucked as his fingers etched invisible tracks into my skin, tracks that flowed down my body like streams as he filled them to the brim with a constant need to feel his body against mine.
Whenever that happened, each and every time he pulled my body against him, for cuddles, for fucking, for stolen moments watched by curious eyes soft mewls of approval left my lips and I knew, I knew, I knew, I knew that this was it, I was home, that he was always meant to be mine.