Violent Needs

If you weren’t in that position, and I weren’t struggling to resist the temptation, I’d pull you closer and whisper the kind of filth that only lovers speak to one another when their need is much deeper than wading in shallow lukewarm waters, and there are days when I abstain from breaking the silence when I ache for your touch.
 
Daydreaming, of planting kisses upon your rock hard holiness as my lips worship you lovingly whilst grazing the slit of your tip, scribing the letters of my name with my tongue before deep throating you as I watch the way you watch me, with intent to drill me hard & deep until it hurts so good.
 
When pain becomes pleasure and there’s nothing wrong about being right in the midst of being gripped tight as you tangle my hair between your fingers to bury yourself deeper, and my tight wet glistening whole anticipates the impending violence in the need that’s about to unfold and erupt, whilst tilted at the hips my lips taste your desire, and I’m left breathless as you penetrate my senses.
 
Aching, for more as you grind against me whilst my legs are draped over your shoulders, and the weight of you keeps me grounded, pinned beneath the ecstatic crescendo of your symphonic hips, and the way we drift upon the orgasmic gushing waterfall you elicit from the relentless motion of drilling me deep until we find orgasmic bliss, in the depths and beauty of a gape that drips with your seed.
 
Wrists held firmly within the gripping of your grasp as you kiss me with a passion that’s rarely sated, and I ponder the morning wood that oft remains untouched as our roots become tangled, and I’m splayed open whilst impaled deeply upon the bulb of your grapevine, and we selfishly harvest the nectar that drips from my pulsating swollen peach.