Restraint
I cannot tell you how difficult it is to refrain from talking dirty to you. I literally cannot tell you; you may flee.
Your lips must be kissed, full and soft, but not too full or so soft as not to hint at brutality. Maybe just a little.
Your hands must be kissed, palms and fingertips and knuckles. I want to suck your finger with a teasing, twisting tongue. I want to fill those hands with my softest flesh.
Your brow must be kissed, worries caressed away with my lips. I would rest your head upon my breast.
I want to worship you with my mouth, my fingertips, to brush your skin with my hair. I want to slide my whole body down to yours, melting my curves into yours, skin to skin. I want to entangle my legs in yours and grasp you tight to me.
I want the feel of your hair against my nipples.
I want to breathe you.
If you never take me to bed, the joy from just seeing you, just being near you, will keep me high for a good long while. I won’t die from the longing. But god I want you, like fire wants the wind.
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