You let me go but I feel the warmth of your palm on mine. It's nice, I'll admit. I've never felt something so special and innocent.
But I don't want innocent. Not now. I don't want sweet writing. Your metaphors and happily-ever-after stories won't give me an
orgasm. I want hot, luscious evening sweating in wild love sheets. I want embers between my legs when we stop to catch a breath.
I want to yearn for your lips when they aren't on my skin. I want to gasp when you touch me there. To see your smirk when I react as
you anticipate. I want unbreakable eye-contact as we dance across the mattress to no particular beat. I want to feel, see and taste
your soul through your magnificent body. So throw away your words for now and make me pant in positions undiscovered by
anyone. Make me finish so vehemently that the poor neighbors think I'm being maliciously murdered. That's all I need.