Fantasy

I'm going to weave you a story tonight.
There will be a hint, a flutter of gossamer indiscretion. It will touch lightly upon your lips, setting a delicate line of fire down your throat. A kiss of memory, whispers, secrets, threaded together quickly, an expelled breath at the first evening's touch. Stand still. I will murmur this close to your ear.
When I give you a story, when I place these words together just so for you, your desires are my fantasies and your waking hours solely my pleasure.  I am sliding my tongue not just over the dip of your hipbones, not enough to bite my name away from your trembling lips, I want to be inside your skull, swelling the veins of your heart. When you wake, you will remember me. When you sleep, you will dream of me. When your heart beats, you hear the echo of my footsteps on your floor.
Only then will I begin to be satisfied.

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