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Salt is a spice, right?
There are some gifts that aren't particularly elegant. The caress of my hand along your jaw, the tightening grip of strong fingers furling in your hair, and the taste of my skin as your lips seal down along my shaft, for instance. You might've expected flowers when you got home, today. Maybe carnations in a bowl, roses in a vase.
But no.
The hot sear of my lips on yours, the lightning in my brown eyes, and that gentle push down to the floor below. My belt hanging open before your lips can part to find their place: open to accept me inside you.
Maybe later you'll feel the stubble on my cheeks burr against the insides of your thighs, my tongue pressing into your heat with all the soft strength I can muster, or feel the thoughts flutter free from your mind when my length slides smoothly home into your body.
But now, with a hint of sugar in my smile, you're about to taste the salt.
That's the gift, you see. Not the hot seed against your kiss, rolling slowly down your cheeks, pooling on your tongue.
Not that.
Your gift is in my eyes, the moment after, when I reach down to pull you up and fold you into my embrace.
Love.
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- 7 years ago
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