My mind returns to this one particular moment, at least once every day. This strange concoction brewed of your promises and my fantasies.
Of your slender, white fingers tracing circles on my olive skin, alternating between slight grazing and sudden deathly grips that leave bright, red marks.
Of your thin lips leaving a trail of love bites from my throat to my round breasts to the garden of paradise between my thighs, dripping in anticipation of your touch.
Of your weight pressed against me, your hot breath against my ear, whispering all the things I have longed to hear from you.
Of being yanked down to my knees by my long, brown hair fisted in your hands, willingly offering you pleasure with my mouth, my full, red lips enveloped around your manhood.
Of my thighs wrapped around your torso, your hands pinning me down as you push into me, claiming what is yours.
Of your gaze boring into my skull, speaking multitudes without a sound, as you fuck me into oblivion till the curtain of reality falls and I drop into a delirious haze of pain and pleasure.
Of the rough graze of your beard when you lean in to kiss me, biting my lips, perhaps even drawing blood, cherrying their colour.
Of your hands fondling and groping me, playing with me like an instrument, making me scream and moan with such intensity and passion that even surprises me.
Of being filled and stretched by your manhood, my face pushed into the floor, your nails digging into my ass and my tears of ecstasy and pain dripping onto the floor, but my eyes are dry.
Of collapsing into your arms when we finish, burying my face in your chest as we lay together, a tangle of arms and legs, shuddering as you gently coax me back to normalcy.