It was stormy, that night I came to you, invited and compelled by your voice, your need, that look in your eyes. A simple picture, a single text: Just those eyes of yours, drowned in desire:

"Don't make me wait any longer," you sent.

And so I found you, through the rain, the thunder, to knock at your door in the dead of night. You opened it, your home filled with candles to light the darkness. The modern power gone in the storm; all that remained was fire, primitive, natural, and honest.

No words, then, only a kiss, an embrace, that pulled us both into each other. Mouths searching, tongues begging. My body to yours against your front door. Fingertips that slid up your thighs, my grip strong beneath your robe. Moans falling low and dark from my lips against your mouth, your neck, your shoulder as your leg hooked my hip.

As eager as I was, I could not rush, needing to know the taste of your skin, the feel of each curve, the sound of your moans from wherever I could kiss. I found myself lost between your thighs that night, holding them open in my grip as your back begged your front door for purchase where your legs could not support you, writhing and twisting in your delicious ecstasy as my tongue traced your heat.

I could not stop, until I felt you shudder. Would not cease, until I felt you grip. Could not for one moment end making love to your wetness with my mouth as my hands held you tighter, tighter, tighter...until your release that still echoes in my mind to this very moment.

And only then, when you slid down the door, into my arms; only then, when your mouth weakly fell on my neck, as I held your trembling form, did I whisper across your ear:

"Hello, little one."

Your fire returned, and you led me, pulled me, drew me into your bed, as thunder rolled outside, and lightning struck our shared desires.