Before Dawn, I Craved Him

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🌙 Before Dawn, I Craved Him

It's 5:24 a.m. I've been awake since before midnight. My mind wandered through many places this morning, but one memory kept pulling me back: time spent with R this past weekend.

I crave his touch. Think of butter melting softly across warm toast. It's not about Sex—not immediately. It's about his hands. The way they move, intuitively knowing where to linger, tease, or press. His touch brings me back into my body, out of my head. And when I'm out of my head, the orgasms arrive—full-bodied, electric.

He lifts the bedcovers and beckons me in. I slide into the nook he's made with his body, fitting perfectly into his torso. My lace-covered bum grazes his bush as I settle in. He groans. "I've been waiting all week for this," he whispers, pulling me closer. I tuck myself into him, breath slowing until it becomes one—his and mine.

His body heat is a balm. I soften. He senses it. His hands roam, and I respond with breath and movement, guiding him without words. It's erotic. Addicting. Like no other.

It's now 6:11 a.m. And still—I crave his touch.

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