Tag: addiction

#MusicMonday – Imagination – Eric Bellinger

*listen to this sexiness here*

Girl come through and let’s do what we do in your imagination
When I’m gone, show me how you pretend
How do you bend your knees?
How do you arch your back?
How do you scream my name when we’re in your imagination?

I know that you hate how much I be on the road
And how I be working late all night at the studio
I know you’re a woman and I know you’ve got needs
But I know that you never, never sneak out on me

How do you do it when it’s three o’clock in the morning?
And how do you touch it when you in that bed all alone?
Show me, show me, show me…

Girl come through and let’s do what we do in your imagination
When I’m gone, show me how you pretend
Girl you gotta show me.
How do you bend your knees?
How do you arch your back?
How do you scream my name when we’re in your imagination?

Do I be on top of you? Do you be on the bottom?
And do we use protection? If we do, you know I got ’em
Do we skip the foreplay? Tell me, do we sixty-nine?
Do you prefer a quickie, or do we go hard all night?

I want to know what turns you on. I swear I’m dying to know baby.
So I can be all that and more.

Girl come through and let’s do what we do in your imagination
When I’m gone, show me how you pretend
How do you bend your knees?
How do you arch your back?
How do you scream my name when we’re in your imagination?

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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.”