by Professor Q
She follows, surrenders...
With a bit of obfuscation, he hides the key
and beckons, a knobbly finger crooking me
into the bosom of his sanctuary.
Smoke snakes its spice into my nose,
incense burning, cloying in its embrace,
but I ooze my way into the room.
My limbs writhe, titillated, into the marble
masterpiece, throbbing with intoxicating desire.
I yearn for this man, for his tantalizing tongue,
his breath hot along my neck, and fingers
dancing along my spine. But I cannot
find him, he has disappeared among the
shadows, hidden, leaving me to panting
insistence. In desperation, I run my hands
over my breasts, my thighs, my lips,
hoping to entice him into stepping into
the amber light of the candles. Slinking my
way toward release, I slide silk along my limbs,
feeling smoke undulate about my naked skin.
Without warning, he is there, primal hunger
attendant, lips feathering and nails tearing.
Frenetic, we embrace, we couple, grasping,
clutching, frantic for release. In less than
a breath, he is within me, pounding, thrusting,
stretching us into ecstatic oblivion.
A burning consumes me and I am lost into
fathoms of explosive release, refusing ever to
be parted from it again.