He enters the room and notices a letter on top of the bed. It's her handwriting, frisky, as she is. He sits down, one leg crossed underneath the other, and he reads it, hearing her voice in his mind.
"Imagine I'm there, getting you horny and torturing you in a good way.
I want to grab your wrists and climb on top of you and kiss you slowly, make you feel my hair on your skin, my nipples softly touching your chest.
I want to stand up and lean my back on your knees and run my hands through my skin, grabbing my boobs like I own them and moving south… but you don't get to touch me. You just get to watch for a while.
Until you can't have it anymore, until you grab me, bite me and squeeze my body in your hands, gluing your skin to mine.
And then you ask me to lie down, on my belly, and you put your hands on my back and on my ass and you lie on top of me. You move my hair to one side to get a better access to my neck. You caress it, you kiss it, you whisper in my hear.