His fingers play my flesh like ivory keys, his touch unleashing tones both deep and lush. Beneath my skin it builds with intensity, spreading through muscle, vein, bone, and blood, as his palms press against my breasts and hips. His lips at my ear, a whispered command, begin a separate discordant rhythm that sets my…
Before you slowly slide your hand over my sleeping hip, I am dreaming of your face between my thighs, the heat of your mouth on my sex. But after you touch me, I breathe in deeply, moaning myself slightly awake beneath your weight as you roll me onto my back and spread my legs. You…
This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is “playful,” so I decided to try a bit of poetry. I’m rusty, to say the least. But here’s a bit of “playing with words.” Like You What if I (stopped/started) kissing you right beneath your earlobe, in that shadowy place where you forget to shave sometimes? Would you be…
I hide behind the veil of anonymity, uncovering just enough to feel exposed – baring breasts, hips, a facial silhouette – yet holding back just enough to feel safe. It’s a bizarre balance of telling secrets and keeping them, flirting with discovery, and fearing it. I cannot tell you my name, but I can tell…
When he’s away, my world becomes quiet. Like going underwater, at first it seems pleasant — my senses pare down to only the essentials, sight and touch. But as I sink into it, the weight of his absence bears down on my chest, and my surroundings grow dark. I feel tendrils of panic welling up…
