As my eyes lazily gaze at the words on my screen, my mind dances around my memories of us.
I have tried desperately to dull the shocks of arousal that coarse through me. The pulsing pain worsening as its sharp hooks tear through me. You are so deep under my skin.
But I am at my computer. Working. And you are elsewhere. You are not standing over me. I cannot taste my love for you on your lips. I cannot feel the warmth of your fingers as they explore my body.
I am at my computer. I am reading over my draft. I am not out of breath. But thoughts of you keep getting caught in my throat. Escaping as quiet groans I mask as coughs.
I need to continue on with my writings. Have proof that I am making progress on my work. I have drained batteries in hopeless attempts to give myself respite from these cravings. But I can still feel the moment you slipped inside of me and the moment you slipped out. I can still feel you on my tongue.
Fuck.