Taste

A dream scene

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. I don’t know what it is the draws me to you, but something does. You entrance me, reel me in, your eyes speak soft words to me.

Your kiss is forbidden for me to think about, but it takes up my senses. Your soft, dainty lips upon mine as your hands stroke my clothed torso, you moan as I move to your collarbone. I lick; I taste the taste of you on my tongue.

You taste good, which makes me want more. You slide off my shirt and I groan, the cold air hits me, and I get goosebumps instantaneously.

You warm me, your hands that are roaming up and down my torso; I lean in and bite your lower lip in passion, savoring the softness of your lips, even as I bite.

You’re so delicious to me; your passion is so deep and overwhelming. Mine runs shallowly, I know it. That’s who I am—what I can’t change. This night is ours…despite everything. We slide off our clothes, we embrace, tongues intertwining, every breath, every gasp, every stroke, every sigh was our own—us—together, one of the same beatific, immoral thought.

I don’t care what other people think. If it feels good, there’s more likely a chance I’ll partake in it more often. Today is no exception.

You take me in your thin arms and I smirk. You smile in my ear, devilishly, and your teeth graze against my earlobe. I get chills again, the good kind.

I flip around and kiss you tiredly on the lips again; a slow and sensual kiss… and I wrap my arms around your unclothed body. Our flesh meets and you close your eyes.

I stare at your comforting loveliness for a while, and close my own eyes.