Quietly entering the darkened room, I listen for your breathing to tell me whether or not you are sleeping. The moonlight, almost completely hidden by the clouds, barely lights the path from the door to the bed, where you are sleeping on your side, facing the window.
I have missed you, longed for you, and now that you are here I cannot bear to be away from you, even as you rest. I sit on the bed next to you and slide my hand up your thigh and over your hip as I whisper, "Sir? I'm here now." Your breathing doesn't change but your foot moves, ever so slightly. I think you know I'm here, but sleep continues to hold you.
I slide my hand over your bottom, caressing and squeezing it gently. It feels so good to touch you. These are the things that I have missed, the touching, the holding, the caressing. I kneel on the floor beside the bed, my hands on your shoulder, and lean over to whisper in your ear, "Sir? I need you. I need to be in your arms. I need to taste your kiss. I need to feel you inside me. Please, Sir."
At this, you turn toward me, your arm coming around to hold my face, your thumb stroking my cheek. Sleepily, you tell me, "Come here, baby girl." And my heart quickens at the sound of your voice. I slide under the blanket, but instead of lying beside you, I straddle your hips and lay my head on your chest. No thought is taken to the way my breasts are pressed upon you. This is the purest form of love, of longing, of wanting.
