July 1, 2008 § 6 Comments

She was obsessed.

Fascinated by his every curve, every breath.

She knew she needed him.

His taste, his smile, his every move.

At night she lay in bed alone.

The only noises surrounding her were the soft hums of cascades against her open windows.

The tiny breeze whirling around the countryside moors outside silently.

Her fingers entwined between her legs.

Moisture dripping onto her fingertips.

His face painted in her mind.

The thought of him making her head spin uncontrollably.

His touch.

The thought of his tongue dancing along her clit, creating a small line of goose bumps up her inner thighs.

Her fingers twisting and moving inside the warmth of her silk wetness, leaving its mark on her sheets.

Beads of sweat running down the arch of her back.

Hair clinging to her rosy cheeks.

Her fingers working faster.


Colours seeming to form all around her.

The thought of his hands on her thighs, holding her down.

His fingers working inside her, pulling her to the surface.

She was so close.

She could smell his essence so close to her.

Her pleasure built.


Until she was there, riding her orgasm, as it fast approached.

Her thighs shaking.

Her back arching high.

She screamed his name.



©Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe


§ 6 Responses to Paint

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