Soft scruff scratches across my neck when scrumptious kisses trace my skin to the crook of my shoulder, tingling stimulation right to my soles. The ache swirls into an insistent throb when his head dips lower, capturing my nipple as a hostage for his tongue. Hazy with sleep's stupor, I'm thrust into carnal turmoil by the onslaught of titillation. The flick of his tongue on my nipple detonates desire right through me - the addictive slip of skin against skin - the comfort of the hairs on his legs tickling behind my thighs - the warmth and solidity of a rigid torso pressing against my back - the hand locked tensely in mine when he pushes inside me, sliding deep, making breathing damn near impossible - spooning and screwing all while restraining me inside his possessive embrace, is sinfully gratifying. God! I'm living the fantasy. Resting on his bicep, biting playfully into the flexing forearm like a pain strap, I muffle a moan, writhing with him, indulging in the invasive heat, the safety, the phenomenal bliss of unadulterated hedonism.
