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Touched

one...

fingertip he traced

two...

to lips he'll taste...wet

three...

caresses; trembled haste

four...

cradles softness, plump derriere

five...

covers breast tweaking, lingering there

shuddering as tongue parts me, like a sweet eclair

breathless; fingers entangled in hair

he's says:

baby, straddle thickness, love me right here...ahhhhh!!!! yes!!!

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d
Written by
debra-a-baugh
American
Published
Jun 29, 2012
Lines·Words
14·48
Permission

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