FaceTime

Buried everywhere
Buried everywhere
FaceTime.

On my phone. His rugged, handsome face smiling devilishly up at me.

I adjust myself, almost intuitively, preparing for what’s to come and smile.

Anticipation building, we know what’s about to happen, yet we make small talk.

I hate small talk.

“How are you?” he asks.

“I’m good,” is my reply.  I glimpse the beater I adore and mentally remove every inch as I kiss his shoulders, wishing this were more than just my fantasy.

“What are you wearing?” I ask.

He rubs his eye, smiling, a nervousness I sense.

I notice his long, thin fingers on perfect hands and immediately thoughts creep into my brain. His phone moves and I see his chest, his stomach, his torso, the print, his legs and my imagination runs crazy.  The desire is real.

That beautiful imprint.

I lick my lips and he pounces.

“What are you wearing?” I tell him nothing, and I prove it.

His lips escape a barely audible, “Fuck” and I say, “Yes please.  Someday soon?”

“Lemme see,” he whispers.  I move and moan in unison, fingers gliding slowly over the wetness.  I pull my fingers up to my lips and let him watch as I lick the glisten off slowly, circling my tongue like I would on that print. He’s stroking.

“Lemme see,” I say.

Immediately thoughts of having him inside me occur.  I want him. He moves and it makes me move; hands exploring, I imagine his fingers inside as I worship the many inches he’s blessed with, one inch at a time in my mouth. He moans and it makes me moan.  He wants to watch my face but wants to watch me grind and this FaceTime is the closest thing we have to reality right now.  I have to be with him and it’s a whirlwind of damn emotions.  I want him and he wants me and he says, “lemme hear you,” but I wanna hear him and I want his face buried everywhere. I want him buried inside and I want to reach through the screen and kiss him and make that happen and in seconds, one, two, three, four, it’s all passion and lust and hate and bliss and satisfaction and frustration, so much fucking frustration. I look into his eyes and make promises, promises of making this a reality. He smiles, his rugged, handsome face smiling devilishly up at me.  In that moment, I’m all his.

“We really need to make this happen.”

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