Sensory overkill

You wrote love on my skin. Tracing the words with your tongue. At your mercy, I ceased to analyse and to overthink.

Your fingers played a symphony on my body. Eliciting foreign sounds. Expert moves, bringing me to the brink.

And when you entered me and joined us at the core, you stole my breath. Eyes wide open. I was blind. Did I even exist?

Sensory overload. Your sweat raining down on me became a sweet torture; I licked it up, I couldn’t resist.

Like a wave, you moved back and forth. I followed, unable to let you go. Go. Stay. Come back. You were driving me insane.

I was drowning in the darkness of your eyes, moaning, forgetting to swim. If I emerged, I would never be the same.

Hoarse whispers, muffled cries. Arched backs, exhausted thighs. But you were not done. You were mine for longer, I realised with a grin.

You wrote your name on my soul that day. Rocking back and forth. Furious, intense and profound, gently marking me as yours from within.

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