Good morning beautiful

85b854a29b88d17cdfb3c94dacfecbd8

She felt the stir. She was once an early riser. One who did not await the dawn, but since you came into her life, she slept a little later. It wasn’t a laziness that kept her eyes shut. No. Nothing of the sort. It was the thought of you awakening her.
She knew that special way you woke her up, and it became an addiction. Every morning when she felt you stir, she would squeeze her eyes closer, feigning sleep, just to be awakened by that special way you do.
She felt the stir and wiggled her buttocks closer to you. It was not for warmth, but pleasure. Your hand played an erotic song on her arms. From shoulder, to finger tips. Her eyes were still closed. Maybe you knew it was her game, her way. Maybe. Every morning, known or unknown, you would start with reconnecting your palm with her curves.
Reliving vivid dreams of the night, and finding new depths to discover. When your hand did the relearning phase your lips followed the trail. Each hand, each leg. When the coldness of lips, reached the inner thighs, feigning anything was an unwelcome fiat. She could not continue the lie. Her eyes fluttered open, mirroring surprise and that other glint you knew was seen only through your own world. Her hunger.
She was hungry. Every interval you took to caress her, then seek out the confirmation through her soul, you saw raw hunger. Right then you wanted to satiate but it was morning. She had to be awaken with a positive mind. It was the only way you knew to begin new choices. You wanted her to always choose you.
As you gazed upon her hunger, your tongue stretched forth to taste the centre of her woman. The core space that may have been tarnished, and shattered, but now healed. You looked up as her eyes closed and her hand slipped up to her breast. Your tongue dancing to her melody, her hands playing its own beat. You watched and smelt the shift. It first smelt musky, now, it took the scent of her. A pungent, sexy smell. The scent any man would never want to lose. The scent that kept you coming home each night just to know. Understand. She opened up her life flower and you got lost. Raising yourself to be parallel her body, you took your shaft, now hard and ready, and eased yourself slowly into her. Every second meant another bit entering. With all inside, and her both hands now near the middle of your back, you leaned down on her while thrusting in.
“Good morning beautiful”

Advertisements

Of thoughts and dreams

For a writer inspiration comes from the weirdest places. One area would be their personal life. This can either be good or bad.
Today I struggle with a thought I have. “I want you!!”. Simple and straight to the point. Yes, it is real.
You make my writing better. Powerful. Dreamy. You make me want to create epic pieces. I cant, on any level, just write and hope you like it. I want to make sure that what I do write, produce, is worthy of your eyes only. It doesnt matter what others may say, your opinion is the only one I seek out.
Then I have that moment, where I don’t ask. I dont ‘send you a new chapter ‘, and sit twiddling, hoping you find it. Hoping you seek out my words just as I search for your approval.
In my waiting, the idea of you lurking on my page, stalking my pictures, stirs every emotion possible, leaving me conflicted, wounded, and, in your own way, loved.
I know the possibilities would’ve been endless. Our creation would’ve been the reason others live. Together, the universe would’ve bowed to the powers we both wielded. Together, reality and dreams would entwine, producing a new world order. Our world would have been a force.
When I die, I hope I can be reborn as music. This way I know I would always be close. To you first, to others after. To the music I shall never buy. You are not for sale.