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Darkness, I can feel her touch, ghostly and insubstantial as mist. Feather-light along my sides like a breeze, or like a breath. Each muscle tenses in expectation, anticipation and my heart quickens, waiting, wanting.
I know her voice, I know her touch, my agony and desires. I know the dream, she is the dream.
I beg for her, to her, wanting her and aching with the need. She knows I need, she causes it and watches it devour me from within, fueling my desires with a whispered word and the promise of a touch. She hears me groan and wants more, draws out more with a breath, with an oath, with a single word.
She calls me hers and I fail. Fail to move, fail to breathe, fail to live further than that moment, trapped. The dream continues with a touch, lips to neck to throat, teeth to flesh. Her mouth, soft and warm and breath as hot as flames, igniting passion along my skin, out of control and burning my hesitation.
I arch upwards, begging with my body, no air to speak, to give voice to urgency. I can moan, and do, a softly pained whimper of desire, of ache and want. Twisting and turning to seek her hand, to feel it on my flesh, feel her on my flesh, her touch, her scent, her skin pressed against mine without restraint in desire as carnal as my own.
She restrains, holds back and laughs, low and deep throated, pleased and amused. I groan and she laughs more, I can hear her grin in the echoes of the silence around me. She touches me and lightening strikes, a blinding flash burning away the last vestiges of control.
I have nothing left to cling to, no will, no name, no sense of self. She whispers something, a name, my name, she calls me hers and I am remade.
