Flaw Salad

My god, you were beautiful. That soft, black hair covered your lean, white belly, and my fingers loved to dance in it. I can almost feel it, my palm against your skin. And you were strong. Those arms wrapped around me like a missing piece of childhood, warm and encompassing, safe and sure.

Your touch was electric, and I never tired of your hands. On my neck, down my spine, across my hips. Slowly, slowly, you touched and ignited every part. My chest flamed for you. My hips pressed forward.

You became a need, and I can feel the ghost of your breath on my neck, your voice in my ear. Your words were perfect, and every desire, every whim matched my own. I ached—ached—to please you.

You filled and covered all of me, and I’ve nothing now. The heat rises, and I’m left wanting. Only wanting. Nothing more.