Wanting

It is daylight. The sun descends on the sinews of his skin. I follow the ripples, every contour of that which is him. I remember the throes of passion from the night before. It was a secret shared under the moon's watchful eye where none existed but he and I . Like the softest whisper, I brush my lips to his. I hear his sharp intake of breath. I feel his uneven breathing. He opens his eyes, unprepared. I see his eyes, dilated. This tells me that he is wanting. Again, he is wanting.

I brushed my lips to his eyes while I thread my fingers through his hair. I breathed in to the smell that is him. I felt his hands running down my spine, and I shiver. I felt his lips on my neck and I purr. I ran my fingers, grazing my nails at his chest. I rise above him and stared into his eyes. I smiled a wicked smile. I hear him moan, oh how it feels so good to hear a man moan. I put butterfly kisses on his neck. I mapped my way down... and then when his breath went unsteady, I took him fully. I took him to me. I hear him gasp. I devoured his very soul. I see his hands clenched, and I could feel that he's losing it. 

And he's lost.

I rise and he stared at me, mute. But his eyes speak loud enough, they tell me, " I want you."

I smiled and simply said, "good morning."