Last night, I had a dream. It is one I didn’t want to wake from. You were there. We were in bed, together. You were faceless, but I knew what you looked like. I could see you.
As you turn over, the sheets crinkling like the sound of pages in a book. You know when you drag the page anticipating the sentence on the other side, but you’re not yet done with the one you’re on?
You turn over like that, savoring the unknowable.
You reach for my cheek. Your hands are rather large; deceiving because you’re tender. You touch me, unafraid of breaking me—like you want to protect me. Sweeping strands from my face—clearing my shoulder for the landing of your lips into the slope. That’s my spot, you know that.
You smell like a fresh bath after a long sweat, pure. You begin your search with the hotness of your breath, stopping where the goose bumps begin, that’s where you stay.
Sucking, lips to skin, latching onto my lobe, then, placing my fingers on the warm cushion of your tongue, swallowing them in. I’m throbbing from root to throat, like you set off an alarm and my whole body rattles wide awake.
I clutch your back, part my lips and dive my teeth into your nape, before falling back on the bed, surrendering.
I am taken. All yours.
Vibrating like a puddle, my body ripples, my hips sway, my bottom lip disappears behind my teeth, bracing myself as you feast on my breasts, working your way in, towards my nipples, massaging with those stable hands, looking at me as though I am the most delicious meal you’ve ever had.
I can feel your craving as you consume me. My hand to your head, pressing you closer, my nails digging, grabbing hold of your hair, thick and damp from your shower.
Slowly you trace my curves with your tongue, tasting all the way to my belly button. Clutching my waist, you pull me towards you, closer, closer, you’ve got me. Reaching down inside my thighs, to my knees, you pause as you switch directions indenting your fingers into my flesh, dragging them up and around as you latch onto my meat. I can feel myself flushing, fingerprinted evidence of your desire.
Spreading my legs apart with your arms, you lift your gaze and smile, I smile back, a knowing of how lucky we are for this, this comfort.
You tease, lightly kissing around my entrance, savoring that place right beside it, making your way, high first, that’s the lever that opens it all.
Circling, circling, down, down, in, out, just like that. Don’t stop. I tell you so. Pushing your fingers in carefully, sliding the pads into that secret spot no one knows is there, but us—matching the pace of your tongue, until you take it all.
I tighten around you, quivering, my hips swaying with your motion. My eyes meet yours as I grin to let you know, I‘m at your mercy. The one I release myself too, in your hands, your mouth, your arms and there’s nothing left to do but enjoy this, enjoy you.
The world walks out the door the moment you lay your hand to my cheek; time does too.
I need you inside me. I try to claw at your shoulders. You shake your head, torturing me with delight just a little longer until it happens, I can feel it, the tremor, the flood. You feel it too. Faster, faster you work like a well-oiled machine, going the same direction, to the same place, for the same purpose.
I sigh but it gets caught, my voice stolen, taken by the hand of orgasm, fleeing the other way from my throat to my pussy, escaping into you, through your throat all the way down to your c*ck.
Now, you need to be inside of me, your tongue grinding its way up my center, to my breasts, meeting my lips. Intimacy has a taste, this. The wetness of connection—of trust.
I arch back as your lips meet my throat. Your steam forces my mouth open, a moan escaping into the air, the room dancing alive. My breasts mash against your chest, my softness meeting your hardness, our opposites combine, no distinction.
The sound of synchronized movement, polarities in unison, like a wave to the shores, the crescendo then collapsing, tumbling, me on top, then you, splashing, arching, the crashing sound of ecstasy. Our passion soiling the fabric of rest, the wet, sticky, messiness of loving.
I push you down, you smirk. I do too. You love my sweet saltiness, my pure naughtiness. I’m a slut and a saint. You embrace it all, you welcome me in as I am.
My palm holds your heart as I swallow you whole because I can. My tongue circling you like a shark to prey. My other hand caressing your base, slowly than quickly, my hands, my mouth work together. Pressure—not too hard, not too soft.
You start to pulse, shake, squeeze the sheets in your fists and then, just like I did to you, voice trembling, silenced by the hand of pleasure, you explode and I drink you, all of you until you’re dry.
I glance to your feet as they let go, toes pointing in opposite directions. You lift your beautiful hands to your hair and pull it back like a soccer player after a goal. I crawl my way into your nook. As our eyes kiss, so does our laughter, like the current pulls the wave back to sea and for a moment, I swear I can see the bottom of the ocean.
I love you.
I love you.
We don’t even need the “too.”
When we meet, I hope we make love like this.