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He is who I want.

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He was the only one who kindled an inferno inside my heart that could burn through the stone cold wall I built around myself as an armour. 

His eyes looked at me with lust that even Danté couldn't compose in his writings. The way they pierced through all the filthy thoughts I could conjure up in that moment; telling me– in it's own cryptic way– what he would do to me.

His lips worked miracles on my skin, making it tingle with pleasure, knowing every fault line and cliffs like a well versed traveller exploring an unknown territory but knows it all to well.

His tongue peeking out occasionally to drive me insane and sending liquid hot desire straight between my legs.

His mouth– that oh, so beautiful mouth– whispering sweet nothings in the form of lewd words, telling me how much he loved tasting me, eating me, having me squirm under him, begging him for more. His words were my driving force; my aphrodisiac.

Oh, how much I hated him for making me feel this... This hunger for his body. For him.

I hated how much I craved for his arms wrapped around my waist while he devoured me from behind.

He was the untouchable god and I a mere mortal who believed only in him when I was down on my knees, my hair twisted around his fisted in strong grip. While his eyes showed his tenderness, his hips showed no mercy and I begged for his ruthlessness just to give him the pleasure he deserved.

His fingers touched, pinched, caressed every inch of my skin, mixing pleasure with pain and coaxing out my juices so that he could quench his thirst.

His kisses were as soothing as the mid summer rains and as devastating as a hurricane, destroying me nonetheless; and yet, in it's own perverted way, giving me life.

I needed him like you need air to breathe yet he always took my breath away with every stroke as he buried himself deep within my moist cavern.

Feeling him move inside me was my version of a lullaby. His moans and grunts were my favourite music to which our tongues waltzed like professionals.

His palms left bruises on my skin and every sting was my prized possession. The marks left by his teeth told an entirely different story of our liaison.

He was the forbidden fruit I couldn't stop myself from eating. I knew he'd be the death of me and I would gladly lay my life at his feet.

Published 
Written by Galatea
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