Touch

There is something about you, as clichéd as it sounds. It frustrates me that I cannot put my finger on it because I want to do so much more than that. I want to run three fingers down your back, trailing gentle scratches as I go. I want to know how you react with your hair between my fingers, as I tug and wonder if your eyes will widen. I want to know how your arse feels in the palm of my hand, as I grab it- marking my target before I strike.

I want to know how my fingers feel in your mouth, before you find out how they feel elsewhere.