Let me breathe in your scent, heady and rich, the musk of sex and desire and sweat. Let me taste it on your skin, on your lips, on your fingertips. Let me take you in my mouth, pressing you slowly deeper against the back of my throat. Burn away the uncertainty and let me feel your urgency marking lines across my naked skin.
I want to drink you in, intoxicated on the dangerous look resting behind your eyes, like a storm brewing beneath the surface, like passion harnessed in methodical, careful movements. Unleash. Unravel. I want to taste your patience in tantalizingly slow movements and drawn out breaths, whispering, “Here?” as you touch me, slowly, and I groan back a response, incoherent, and shift my body against your hands. Move with me. Don’t let me off that easy. Make me ask, with eyes open, dripping wet and on the edge. Make me struggle against the words, and watch my eyes when I finally succumb: “Fuck me. Please.”
Extend my shame, the words burning flush against my cheeks. That sadistic smile with tender eyes, and a whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. What was that?” while your hands are still tracing lines inside my thighs. Make me say it. Make me say it again, and again, until the words don’t burn and I have lost all sense of shame and language has come full circle to the coherency of begging.
Fuck me slowly, if you can, if you can stretch your own desire taut. Fuck me slowly, gently, until I am moving with fury against you and whimpering for more. Then, only then, curl your fingers in my hair and pull, pull tight until my back is arched and I cannot move and you pound against me at your own rhythm, to hell with what I want.
Because this, this is what I want. Let me take you in, in my pores and in my throat, in my mind and in my cunt. Let me taste your desire, ground me in the feeling of your hand against my throat and your teeth on my skin, your lips against the hollow of my neck, your fingers hooked along the edges of my hips.
Let me take you in, full and open and raw. Watch me burn and meet you, storm for storm, well-matched intensities in a conflagration of bedsheets and bodies colliding. Let me sink to my knees and find the power in taking so much more of you than I thought that I could. Let me find my fingers tangled in your hair, your eyes pleading for just a taste, your breath warm between my thighs.
Let me sink down into you, against you, my movements my own, your hands grasping and pulling me in to feel you deeper. I want you dripping with want, real and present, looking at me like you see something flickering at the edges of my eyes that you want to touch. Hold fire in your hands and guide it; let it burn without scorching your skin.
Trace the tendrils of smoke drifting up from my collerbone. Taste my heartbeat racing with every passing moment, and look at me like you are thinking of devouring me, ravishing and shredding me, until I am nothing but blaze, feral and uncontained, and looking less and less like easy prey.
Monomaniacism 