You are laying on your back, your head on the cushion, and our glances meet. Desire is written all over our faces, my lips yearning for your cheeks, your neck, your shoulders. My fingers aching for the need to explore every single inch of your body, to make you still and breathless, unable to ask but wanting for more and more.
My hands feel yours, trailing all up to your chest, then lower, to your hips, to your thighs, your legs. You are a book waiting to be read, a plot twist close to happening, your breath a regular, but anticipating rythm.
We are a dance ready to happen, two stars almost colliding, a supernova of colours and feelings just then and there and it feels like the universe is looking - no, waiting - for this, for us, to happen.
Let's not make it wait.
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