The Lingering Wait....

The want.
The desire.
The lingering wait.
The chills of heat that run up the spine from the anticipation.
The longing.
The lust.
The thought of you.

Your lips.
Your perfect, incredibly kissable lips.
Pulling you into me while our lips unite with intention.
My hand molded around the nape of your neck.
The thundering pulse of fevered sensation.
Your lips.
Your tongue.
Your touch.

We lie in an entangled fortress of delight.
My grip tight around you.
Passion building with every kiss, lip bite and lingering lick.
You lift your hips as your mouth clamps down on my neck.
Mounting me.
Inviting me inside of you.
Your hands clasped in mine as you push up.
Wet, warm, slow.

Slowly guiding me in.
Taking me in deep.
Deep into your garden, awash in your wetness as you ride me like the winds ride the waves on a beautiful, breezy summer day.
This delicate dance of back and forth and the far in between as we make love.
All the while, kissing.
From beginning to end and end to beginning, kissing.
Like mad fools tumbling down the rabbit hole our tongues dancing, our lips speaking with every touch, our breath breathing meaning to all that is.
And it is there,
There that I have;
The want.
The desire.
The lingering wait.
The chills of heat that run up the spine from the anticipation.
The longing.
The lust.
The thought of you.
The thought of you and the very next kiss.
The very next kiss is all I desire.