''I am mad at you'', she moans,
as he enters her. ''I don't wonna cum for you''.
''I dont give a shit'', he whispers in her ear in that sexy voice of his
as he's working her up to her climax.
''I wont be cuming'', she is protesting,
feeling the familiar wave surging too dangerously inside her.
Too closely , too late.
''I dont give a shit'', he repeats,
breathing deeply into her ear,
half kissing , half nuzzling her,
steadily thrusting,
inexorably getting her there
driving her mad with pleasure.
He knows her body,
its rythm, its needs and wants.
His arrogant confidence angers her
but her body has taken control now
shutting up her mind.
Surging. Overflowing.
Subsiding in his arms
''More, I want more'', she whispers.
She is hungry. For him.
It's been the longest they've ever been apart.
Fuck distance.
''I want more. More''.
And he gives her more.
Always.
Watching her closely.
To gauge how much.
And how.
His tenderness translating in
acts of passionate caring for her body.
''You only want one thing from me'',
he tells her afterwards, an edge of bitterness in his voice.
''It's just sex you want from me...''
He's referring to her angrily demanding of him
the weeks before:
''I need you here, regular doses of the physical you,
regularly. I cant make this
unless you come to me often enough.
I need you in the physical often,not once in a while
just talking over the phone or skyping wont do''.
As they are lying there,
in the afterglow of love shared,
his words take her by surprise.
Most of the time she won't let him speak
because she talks too much
and he listens patiently.
Though it's his voice she's craving to hear.
But at that moment,
words fail her.
How can she tell him what's in her heart?
''That's not true..'' is the only thing she can come up with,
her eyes and heart full.
She thought he knew,
she thought she told him often enough
how much she loved him,
she thought he needed no reassurance.
''Write us a story'', he would tell her
each time she wasnt feeling herself
because of his absence.
''Write a story, cook a yummy meal of words of love
and feed us both with it.''
Those were his words.
Because all her stories are for him.
Fore his eyes only,
Even if hundreds read them
its just the two of them, reliving it
through her writings.
So now she knows what she's gonna do.
'' I' ll tell him in one of my stories''
I used to convince myself in the beginning that it would never work.
Slowly I felt myself becoming a healthier person, and although it was happening gradually, his words of soothing encouragement were always running though my head.
All the pain, betrayal, and abandonment that I have felt in thοse past years before he came seem to mean nothing anymore. He loves me more than I could ever possibly love myself. Is that possible? I don’t know what it is, but this man has kept me happier than I’ve ever been despite of how far he is. Not just by how he loves me, but by the way he is as a person. I’ve met many people I could connect, but none of it can compare to the way my soul, my heart, and my mind connects to his.
Nothing compares to him, absolutely nothing. I want a lifetime of craziness with this man. I want to fall asleep in his arms, I want to be half asleep and feel his arms around me. I want to lay there and feel his soft lips gently pecking my forehead because that’s when I know I am the safest.
This life altering kind of love.
When I'm hungrily listening to his thoughts and I become intoxicated, it's my body that hungrily asks for his touch.
When he is giving me passionate physical love, my mind and my heart craves his.
How can I separate one from the other?
Why should I?
I want to be your one life stand, my love.
Every fucking day.
For the rest of our days.
Happy 1.627 days of Love Anniversary
Love you
