I Think Of You

Every time I see you, I wonder why I can’t just be straight and not suffer like this. I wonder why I can't just blurt out all the things I want to do to you, ill controlled restraint binds my words temporarily, like lava bubbling quietly within the confines of a raging volcano until it's time to break violently beyond the surface, but my thoughts run rampant, unchecked.

I want to stand behind you and breathe you in as my hands roam delicately across the gentle rise of your stomach upward to cup your beautiful breasts, my touch firm enough to define my desire yet tender enough to clearly express my romantic fixation upon you. I want to feel you arch your back and press yourself into me as my hips strain forward with the sole intention of feeling you. I need to feel you. Every part of you.

I want to run my hands over your breasts and kiss each of your nipples, I want to know precisely how hard I must nibble to make you slide your fingers through my hair and tug me closer, or gently pull me back, a hint to lighten up . I want to know what your lipstick tastes like. I wonder what your hair smells like after you shower and how it would feel to run my fingers along your hot, wet pussy and just how and where to touch you to make you whimper. I want to know everything about you. Inside and out.

I want to see how beautiful you are when you're lost in a moment of passion. I want to suck your clit into my mouth and make you moan. I want to make you come so hard that you will never be able to think of pleasure without thinking of me, the way I think of you. I want to devour you.

But for now, I'll keep that to myself.