A collection of lines, hollows, and shadows begging for bisection. The relax and clench of the smaller muscles in his neck and those at the corners of his square jaw—blunt enough to add maleness to the rounded pout of his swollen lips. Hunched shoulders protecting his heart—beating in a thin cage of bone and skin. Stomach and hips pushed forward to remind you of his proud sexuality, strutting with need. Arching his back to stand arrogant, wide-shouldered and thin hipped; as beautiful as a Greek charioteer. Dreamy slow, drugged movements of his head, tilting like a dog at the smallest noises or movements of interest.
Nothing gentle about the way he touched you; as draining and insistent as a cancer. Selfish and rude kisses, wrapping his body around you to keep himself alive. His chest studded with coarse black hair, burning your skin with stubble as he panted lovelovelove into your ear as hot and heavy as his body. As familiar as your own voice.
You are willing to forgive him anything for the pleasure his physical beauty brings you.
He sings to you and his voice roughs over the high notes, becoming a hum rising from the depths of his straining throat. It is sex floating, invisible smoke building up in his lungs and released—steaming—into the chilling air. It boils into your ears, causing your panties to dissolve as you tremble, waiting for the last note.
You fell for how it felt. You wondered if you were one or many, a singular or plural recipient of his lavish affection. His amazing charm.
Hello. I love you. Won’t you tell me your name?