The sweet scent of flesh. A loving touch. The alluring heat between two warm bodies. Heavy, intoxicating breaths. Passionate scratches on my back. I just can’t have enough. I’m addicted to that sparkle in their eyes, to those fiery kisses, to the force and tempo, and to the moans that ring like symphonies to my ears.
Temporary bliss. An interim arrangement. It makes me feel wanted, desired. Loved. Like I’m a better man. Makeshift love. Fill-in satisfaction. Craving for connection. Craving for intimacy. Intertwined tongues, intertwined bodies; intertwined souls. Even just for a brief moment, the nothingness inside me subsides.
Staring at your naked perfection, caressing and loving every inch of you. Tasting every bit of you. Saliva and sweat. Hearing you panting. Leaving you breathless. I just can’t have enough.
Even an all-consuming lust can’t fill my empty heart. Even an affectionate touch can’t sooth my hurting soul. The voice deep in my head saying, “When the light comes, when the sun finally rises, you won’t matter. It won’t matter.”
And every single time, I’m secretly hoping she’ll never leave. Hoping that the connection will last. Hoping that meaning will fill us up like the burning passion filled our insides.
But there you are, standing up. Going to fix your hair, to get dressed, getting ready to leave. Leave this room; leave my life. After all, for you, this was just a one night stand.
One night to make it count. One night here with someone, hoping that she’s the one.
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