He doesn’t touch me.
Not with his hands,
but with the rest of his body,
his mouth tasting every place
his fingers crave to be.
He’s slow.So damn slow, it makes me ache.
His mouth hovers my breast,
hot breath pouring over my nipple
before his lips melt into it.
He flattens his tongue to the peak,
and drags it in a wet, drawn-out lick.
My whole chest clenches in response.
His fingers curl into the comforter
as he drops lower,
his chest sinking between my thighs.
And his heart—fuck,
it’spoundingagainst my clit.
It races faster, faster,harder
as he sinks lower andlower, and still…
He’s not touching me.
He no longer needs to.
He knows me?—
my ribcage, my lungs, my hips, my bones.
The sensitive flesh at the crease of my thigh.
And I can hear his voice in my head?—
You’re mine, and I’m takin’ my time. Wanna taste you slow. No rush. Just you and me. You’re gonna feel every second of me, baby. Everywhere. Swear to God, I’m gonna make sure you do.
And I’m shaking lying here,
his lips trailing slower andlower,then?—
His knees crash to the floor.
Mouth open, breath hot,
