Southern Heat

"It's hot in here, baby!"
I pull my hair up, off my neck.
A quick glance in the mirror:
flushed cheeks, tiny beads of sweat.
You are propped up in bed, reading,
but you pause to look at me and grin.
"Nah...it's just me."
And I must agree...you are scorching.
But the temps are soaring, and I need some relief.
"I'm opening the window," I announce,
flipping the latches, pushing up the sash.
A welcome gust of coolness floods the room,
but it's not quite enough,
so I strip off my shirt, and it drops to the floor.
You look up again from your book
and your eyes widen.
"That window is open!"
With a sly grin, I step into its frame.
"Why, yes, it is."
Your eyes have that thing I love:
that wicked gleam, that lustful twinkle.
You set your book aside and stride over to me.
Your arms reach around and cup my breasts,
covering me, shielding me from outside eyes.
But even as you protect, you excite,
brushing nipples with strong fingers.
I’m tingling with desire as I reach behind me,
tug at your boxer shorts.
With your free hand, you help me,
adding to the growing pile of fabric at our feet.
Your need is evident, pressed against my back, then suddenly thrusting inside me,
taking my breath away in ragged gasps.
I move with you, not with loving caresses,
but with desperate fucking,
hot as your breath against my neck,
your words gasped into my ear,
and our sweat in the sultry summer air.