Wild@Heart:Then I'd roll you over. Onto your back. So I can see your face and the rest of your beautiful body.
Wild@Heart:I'd begin at your throat, tracing my fingertips downward. Over the gentle curve of your breasts, and the tender undersides, where the skin is the softest. Barely touching. Watching your skin prickle and hearing your breathing go ragged.
I feel every word—following his fingertip as it draws a slow line across skin that hasn't been touched insooolong.
Wild@Heart:Then I'd drag my fingers down your sides. Over your ribs—one by one—down to your waist. Finding out where you're ticklish.
Cursive&Caffeine:I am extremely ticklish and you would be playing a dangerous game.
Wild@Heart:Is that a dare?
Wild@Heart:I'd brush over the swell of your belly to the hollow of your navel. Feather-light to make your muscles jump.
And I'd hover there—watching you twitch, listening to you gasp, feeling you try to hold still. Then I'd do it again, to watch you squirm and hear you giggle.
I want to be the reason for that joyful sound.
I press my lips together, but a grin breaks through anyway. My stomach muscles are clenching, his ghost-fingers are already there, tracing patterns over sensitized skin.
Wild@Heart:I want to learn your body. Where you laugh, where you shiver, and where you moan. What kind of touch makes you squirm and where it makes you cry out in pleasure.
This man…
Wild@Heart:I’d trace my fingertips from your collarbone down between your breasts. Slowly. Watching your eyes get heavy and your lips part.
Wild@Heart:You still with me, gorgeous?
Cursive&Caffeine:Barely…
Wild@Heart:Should I keep going?
Cursive&Caffeine:Hell, yes.
Wild@Heart:Mmmm, good…I’d caress your breasts, drawing circles toward your nipples. Your back would arch as I get ever closer. But I’d tease you, until they're stiff and aching before I'd brush over them just enough to make you whimper.
A sound catches in my throat. My nipples are pebbles against the fabric of my bra.
Wild@Heart:Then I’d have mercy and give each of those tender peaks a gentle massage until you’re moaning my name.
Jesus.
Wild@Heart:Eventually, I’d move my hands down your stomach. Over your hips.
I'd undo your jeans and peel them off, taking my time doing that too, since I want you impatient.
I want your hips lifting to help me, knowing I made you want this.
My hips shift against the mattress in a restless roll that I couldn't have stopped if I tried.
Wild@Heart:And then I'd look at you. Every sexy inch. I think you've forgotten what it's like to have someone look at you as if you're the sexiest thing in their life. And I'd want you to see it on my face—what you do to me—before I touched you again.
God, I’m so wet. Full-on, aching, swollen-between-my-legs wet. He’s just…unwound me. Peeled back every layer of armorand exhaustion like he had all the time in the world and the only thing on his agenda was me.
Wild@Heart:I'd slide my fingers up the inside of your trembling thigh…and I'd trace the edge of your panties.
Cursive&Caffeine:You are killing me right now. I need you to know that.
Wild@Heart:Good. Now imagine that feeling, and multiply it by what I'd do if I actually had you in front of me.
