The long fingers of one hand wrap around my throat, his other arm snakes around my waist and he hoists me up and pins my back against the long line of his body. He growls in my ear; wordless, a raw, animal sound. My fingers automatically close around his wrists and stroke at his skin. His body is vibrating behind mine; he is heat lightning and raw thunder and energy. I feel small and vulnerable in his hands. His teeth close around my earlobe and he drags the flesh into his mouth. His thumb at my windpipe slows my breathing down until all I can take are deep, slow breaths, fighting for the little air he does allow me. His hand at my waist forces its way in between my skin and my clothing, sneaking past my skirt and rubbing against the outside of my panties, stroking me between my thighs. I can’t help but rock my hips, but let my fingers snake around his wrists. There is heat inside of him, an urgency born of jealousy and a fire that’s been simmering all day. Continue reading
Someday this song will be about us.
It will meld so seamlessly with the way we exist
you might question whether I wrote it for you.
Just know that even though I didn’t pen the words,
My heart only thinks of you when I hear it.
A Sinner Sits for Sacred Sunday Service
Singing the liturgical tones of
to your taciturn tendencies,
exercises in silence;
a sojourn in discipline;
momentary lapse of reality–
how many times
will you make my eyes speak to you?
I whisper across the fire,
begging pour le deluge.
tes yeux de glace
are only for you–
waiting to again make the
carnal sounds of coitus:
a litany of pumping hips
the chorus of animal sounds
as I lick the sweat from the hollow of your