Panther Dreaming

Some days it's scary how much I want you, how much time I spend contemplating the lines of your back, the curve of your spine, and how I want to shower the surface of it with kisses both gentle and savage. How the sweet little curve where your neck meets your shoulder draws my mouth like a moth to flame. How I can spend a ridiculous amount of time doing nothing but kiss you and still come away wanting more.

There are days where I can't get my head around the fact that you're mine. Those are the days where I want to unwrap you like a much anticipated birthday present and explore every inch of slowly exposed skin with fingers and lips. Other days I just want to grab you by the hair, use you for my own selfish pleasures and make you like it. Most of the time I just want to wrap you up in my embrace and my body and make you feel warm and loved and safe, and have the favor returned.

I'm not sure how I got along without the feeling of your hands on my skin, without waking up to find one my nipples hardening under the heat of your palm, without you waking up just enough to murmur "I love you" into my ear before falling back asleep. I don't think I could for very long now if I tried.

I'm gonna post this, and then I'm going to get back in bed, put my arms around you, kiss you until you make that lovely sleepy "ooh attention! yes please" noise in the back of your throat, and tell you I love you. Because I do, dear gods I do, I love you and want you so much the words get caught in my throat and it takes an effort to shove them out there and even then sometimes they don't say enough. So I'll twine myself around you, bury my lips in your neck, and hope you get the message that way instead.

I remember the first go round at the journal my entries were of a sweeter, more lyrical bent. I'm not sure when I lost that tone, but today I find I miss it.

I keep remembering little snatches of last night, and closing my eyes to savor them as they drift through my mind. It was one of those rare times when Kittyboy was vocal instead of silent, and I can hear very clearly the low sigh of pleasure as my lips slid down his cock to the hair, feel his hands on the back of my head urging me to take him further, deeper and the tip of him coming to rest at the back of my throat. And later, pulling out of my mouth and throat, pulling me roughly up for a kiss, growling "Come up here and fuck me." The memory is enough to drench my panties, the actuality... *sigh* I love being talked dirty to; an ex of mine once figured out that a string of obscene words fed into my ear in a sweetly evil tone of voice would key me up to the point where if I was told to come, I would, with barely a touch involved. Kittyboy does it so rarely that one sentence often is enough to set every nerve in my body singing with desire.

Every so often you get a lovely instance where things transcend fucking and you're caught in this moment of being as close as physically possible to another human being, where you're synched up perfectly and you both know it, and even in pitch darkness, you can find your lover's lips and hands without trying, without losing the other person's rhythm, where being told you are loved is quite possibly the most erotic thing you've ever heard. My only complaint about last night is that it was dark, because in that moment, one hand laced in Kittyboy's, the other hand buried in his hair, his other arm across my shoulders, forehead to forehead, moving together, the one thing missing was I couldn't look deep into those autumn colored eyes of his and watch him hit the edge with me. Course, feeling it was more than enough as it was... and afterward, there isn't anything better than drifting into sleep while being held like the most precious thing in the universe. Or for that, matter, waking up still held that way. *sigh* no wonder it's damn near impossible to get up in the mornings these days.