The candlelight trembles across my skin like it’s nervous too.
Dark waves of my hair spill over one shoulder, half-hiding, half-revealing the curve of my neck — the very place your lips always find first.
My eyes… oh, these eyes you once called dangerous — they’re waiting. Heavy-lidded, molten, already painting every filthy, tender thing I want us to do tonight. They see you even when you’re not here yet.
The silk of my slip clings where it shouldn’t, sliding higher with every slow breath I take. The room smells of amber, bergamot and the warm secret between my thighs that’s been ready for you since morning. Every heartbeat echoes your name there.
I trace lazy circles over my own skin, pretending these are your hands… but it’s a cruel imitation. Nothing feels like you. Nothing burns like you.
Come.
Please come soon.
I want to feel how violently you missed me — in your grip, in your teeth against my throat, in the way you’ll push inside and make me forget there was ever a world before this moment.
I’m already soft, already trembling, already yours in every way that matters.
Hurry, my beautiful man.
This fire is growing impatient…
and so am I. 💋