Mi Amor,
Last night, lying in this empty bed, I couldn't stop thinking about you. Your absence is an echo that resonates in every corner of my soul, and although distance separates us, my body and my heart cry out for you with an intensity that burns inside me. I miss you so much it hurts, a longing that lives right beneath the surface of my skin and won't leave me alone.
As the shadows played on the walls, my mind was filled with you. I imagined your hands running over my body, slow, steady, as if they knew every curve, every crevice that belongs to you. I closed my eyes and could almost feel your warm breath on my neck, your lips whispering promises that make me tremble. In my fantasy, there were no miles between us; you were here, with me, igniting every fiber of my being with that fire that only you know how to kindle.
The memory of that Saturday night when we went to your friend's birthday party. Of all the men at the bar, I only had eyes for you. You're the only one who catches my gaze, and it thrills me when I captivate yours. All night long, you kept undressing me with your eyes, your hands always looking for an excuse to touch my skin. When the others were entertained with the conversation of the moment, I felt your hand around my waist, pulling me toward you, and subtly moving up to touch one of my nipples with the pads of your fingers over my dress. That memory thrills my senses; just thinking about it, I can't help but squeeze my thighs together and feel desire blossom between my legs.
I long to feel your hand between my legs again, not be here alone lying in bed longing for you. I mimic the movements of your hand with mine. The taxi driver stole glances in the rearview mirror as we climbed into the backseat, more than a drink playing with my mind and desire ready to wake at the smallest touch, I felt like only our skin touching would burst into sparks upon contact.
Your lips on mine, my tongue in your mouth, your hand in my hair, moving down my shoulder and squeezing my breasts. Your fingers teasing my nipples make me open my legs without even thinking, not caring where we are, not caring that the taxi driver was there driving while your hands made me feel like a cat in heat.
Your hand moved up under my dress, I parted my thighs even further, desperate to feel you. I moan against your lips as your fingers rub my clit, my hips undulate on the seat, my arousal escalating to the point where I grind against your hand. I exhale a moan of relief when you move the fabric of my thong aside, that direct skin-to-skin contact, your finger penetrating my wet opening. Your mouth swallows my moans until you're hungry for more. Your other hand pulls the neckline of my dress down, leaving my tits bare and exposed on the backseat of that taxi. All I care about is feeling your mouth right there, yes, like that, just like that, sucking one of my nipples, then the other. Your finger sliding in and out of my soaked slit, the scent of my arousal permeating the interior of the taxi.
I press my lips together, trying to stifle my moans, but any attempt at subtlety is gone. The taxi driver hasn't complained, so he's certainly not bothered by the spectacle we're giving him. I no longer feel your mouth on my tits, and I'm sitting there with my legs spread, grinding against your hand. I see you looking into the taxi driver's eyes through the rearview mirror without slowing down the pace of your hand; the sound of your fingers sliding into my wetness feels amplified.
