what matters is that you are flowering…

Dear Gentle Sir,

Your hug presses my subtle curves against your body as we breathe. We hold this embrace, we breathe one another in – the smell of my hair, the clean cotton of your shirt – we breath in our heat.

My heart beats faster as you slowly pull away but keep your hand on the back of my hip. I look into your beautiful face as your other hand slowly traces around my ribs and down my side. Your thumb trails behind as it rides over the soft mound of my outer breast. As usual, I follow your shy lead. As usual, your confident desire overcomes both of us.

I leave one hand on the back of your neck, the other rests on your chest. I am in love with your masculine width and tender breath. I want to stay here, encased inside your casual embrace, held in your quiet assurance.

Both hands rest on my hips now. You are about to speak but instead you look at me. You don’t look away. You play with a strand of my long hair, pause again to drink my face in and then you sigh softly.

This stillness…

It counters the fury of my heart beating. It balances out the countless ways I want to suck you off, lick you clean, suckle your skin in secret places, and make your toes curl with mind-numbing pleasure. It forces me to pretend that I haven’t stroked my clit, spread my swollen lips while you watched – smelling my fingers afterwards – before I put them in your starving mouth. It begs my silence even as my pussy lips swell and vibrate with my fuck-juices – these dark lips of mine that want nothing more than to grind in/on/ with you. This stillness of ours moans my unquenchable, wholly fuckable, loving desire for you… that has yet to abate and likely never will.

Our calm, unnamed certainty is the best of all intimacies – that roots itself now in the rumbling passion and uninhibited cries, jaw dropping moans, and throaty cums that are to follow.

Not So Silently Yours,

Lola xo

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