I’m On Fire

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My honeyed syrup drips, sticky sweet, coating my sugared walls, coaxing your fingers further inside where their scissoring tease pulls forth my dripping wet.  My heart beats a two-syllable tattoo against my swollen clit, each thrum in time to the hum of your name spilling off my lips as I tilt my hips into your caress.

More.

Please.

Your breath is hot against the icy lightning pin-pricking my nipples.

My skin is on fire.

When you pull your fingers from me my whole body trembles with the loss and the tears that have been threatening turn my slack-eyed gaze to hazy mist until I realize you are not leaving me empty but rather tasting my sweet molten tang before giving them back to me.

Two push deep…

Curl, retreat…

Then three…

Swirling unrelentingly, readying me for more, oscillating in widening demand against my tight heat.  The stretch and burn threatens to overwhelm my control, and when your thumb presses its plea against my pulsing clit, I swivel my hips into your caress and throw my head back, opening my thighs wide.

This.

This is the precipice, the razor’s edge.

I hover here, savoring this sweet intoxication.

Floating under your weight, cresting against your insistence, drowning in your desire.

Thrilled by the power of your fervor.  Consumed by your drive to please.

Please.

I close my eyes against the onslaught, centering on the moment.  Our movement.  Your mouth, trailing cool flames across across my breasts, against my neck, unrelenting.  I focus inward, no sensory detail escaping my notice.  I clench against your fingers, trailing mine against your veins to feel your pulse beat heavy in your wrist.  I savor the rush of liquid heat dripping down from deep within, flowing through my channel, over your palm, onto my legs, coating us both.  The dam is breaking and I tense momentarily, futilely attempting to arrest the flood.  But my resistance melts as you press for more, and at the whispered prayer of my name on your lips, I flutter my lashes open . . .

.

.

.

. . . to the silent gaze of the surrounding dark.

I breathe deep in the drunkenness of half-sleep and reach toward the space on my bed that you are not in.  But the proof at the apex of my thighs, between my juicy folds – dewy hot and sticky sweet – is all the evidence I need that you were with me just a moment ago…

If only in my dreams.

~

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
And a freight train running through the middle of my head
Only you can cool my desire…

Ohhhhh

I’m on fire…

0 thoughts on “I’m On Fire

  1. dreamlanddancing

    Well-crafted, impressively so…but beyond that, your juicy mind seems to spill out onto the pages like the images of the sheets…a sexual Shroud of Turin…the picture you paint with your words lingers even now…passions so strong that I could swear that I smell them.
    Thank you for sharing your gift with us.
    Namasté
    नमस्ते
    Chazz Vincent

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