Day One:
Lick me. Lick me, lick me, please, for the love of all things holy, Lick. Me. I can't think. Everything is static. I don't really know if I'm closer to you physically now or not, but my heart can recite the distance in geographical degrees. Lick me, baby, please. I need you, your mouth, your attention, your insatiable hunger the same as mine. I need you to make me cry and cry hard. I need you to push me, my limits, my legs tight together then press them up against my chest as you tell me to be good as you devour my body. I need your weight on me, your heat and pressure and presence. That gleam in your eyes, your particular style of smile, your scent. God, your scent... Invisible ambrosia.
Lick me. Baby. Please. Let me grip your light hair and guide your face along my cunt until we are both sated. Dip your head for hours. Taste. Sample. Tease. You have me mewling, and begging, and pleading. I don't care that it's a Saturday. I don't care that there is beautiful sunshine to enjoy. I only care about the loving, tender, dedicated, wise, seductively cruel and mechanical, blissful, harsh, forceful, creative then wonderfully blissful again need that your mouth inflicts on me. This is only going to get worse until you return next week, isn't it? Here's a helpful tip about travel. In regard to distance and direction, Down is that way... Lick.
11:00 PM. Our normal time of goodnight kisses and sighs. Tonight there is a temporary sore and tender ache in the shape of you. You fill me. Your grin and laugh and the way you look at me like you're hungry, starving. This first night of absence makes me think of the determined way your body invades mine as a cherished guest. Do you have any idea just how good, how phenomenal it feels when you push your body inside of mine? When you make me ride out my orgasms impaled on your most intimate length? No, how could you possibly ever know. You turn me inside out. You make me beg and squeal beneath your beautiful frame as you tear me apart. I'm clutching my pillow and dreaming of you. I wonder if you know the stutters you cause in my pulse and speech. I just want to cry with need for you, with hope and lust and quiet joy. You tear me apart. Tear me apart, love. Make it hurt the way we both like. Show me again. Show me you miss me, too. This afternoon I took a nap and woke up to my hips fucking the empty air. It's not only a want or a craving, but an elemental need to have you plundering between my thighs again as soon as possible. My fingernails are restless. I want you in my arms.
Day Two:
6:00 AM. I wriggle back against thick warmth, craving the comfort of your arms and the swell of your cock greeting me for our morning round of lovemaking. But I don't feel your hands claim me and I can't hear your steady breathing, slightly rough and all sexy. No. I snuggle deeper into the sheets and blankets on our bed that smells like you. I sleepily count the hours until you're between my legs and in my arms again, until you're home, until I fall back asleep.
6:15 AM. I lazily dream about you shooting your come all over my breasts. White pearly ropes of my beloved sprayed over my teardrop mounds with the dusty mauve peaks. I want you to come inside me. I want to feel the heat of you spilling your seed into my womb again. I need to feel the twitching jerk of your release so deep in my body, a secret place you alone may claim. There is nothing sexier than the man I love losing the last of his control, pumping ragged into me, and giving me jolts of hot semen all over my inner anatomy. But. Seeing your glossy spend sticky on my nipples and throat, dripping slow over my curves? Mmm. My cunt can learn to share.
