I steal glances at your neck in the low restaurant light. The urban conversations around the room murmur, rise and fall, making your eyes sparkle. You are unaware of how your tenderness is framed by your collar, leading my eyes down the triangle of skin that disappears to a point at the center of your chest. I want and yearn. I can’t stop crafting its sculpture with my mind. Graceful bends. The hint of two muscles paired and in opposition. The soft sexuality is woven, unmade, and woven as your head moves to throw a smile, to tilt with inquisitiveness, to draw back in shock and concern, but most of all, just to be, just to invite, to draw me, to beckon me.
And your presence is like cool sheets on a summer evening. I want to find my shape within your shape. To fit with you like living pieces of a primordial puzzle. And my face would brush back the line of your jaw, and you would tilt aside your head for me.
As I would brush my lips along that lovely ballet of everything except straight and ridged lines, you would sigh and bend back more, igniting me. Because I can’t breathe enough of you. I can’t kiss enough of you. That beauty is always outside, beyond, and I have to dive into it, to truly immerse, like plunging into clear, turquoise water under a tropical sun. And if we were sexually joined just then, the thrust of my hips would not be a means to an end. It would be a frustration, a desire to crush my lips into the hollows of your portraiture. I would thrust and throb in the need to fuck the way you have pulled back the curtain and invited me inside that collar and down your chest, but my cock can’t reach any more than I can fuck the aurora borealis. So I dream of vampires and your hand claw-pulling the back of my head as my teeth would sizzle a river between your neck and the wilds inside your thighs, and our lovemaking would be complete. Penetrating. Immersing. Complete.
As I steal glances at your neck.
As I sigh.
And dream.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/brart9/fetish_of_the_neck