“**** me”
she said

As I twirled a finger;
down her cheek
to her lips
her collarbone
her *******
and more.

Slower and slower
I moved.
Lower and lower
whispering

“Soon”

Sheets gripped with talons,
lip bit with malice,
a dangerous game I played.

To grip a bull by the horns
means to eventually have to let go.
And the longer you hold on,
the wilder the ride will go.

“Soon”
I whispered,
and
“Please”
she begged...