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God, I miss the taste of your mouth. I miss the way your skin ripples beneath my hand, the way I can feel you pulse as my tongue taunts you. I miss the way you tease me, hurt me just a little because you know I like it. It's been too long, long enough that I'm starting to wonder if it was a dream. Did we really feel that good, grinding hard against one another, tangled in your bed? Unschooled as you might have been, you managed to break me. I lost control in your hands, something that never happens.

Did your hands really work that fucking magic on my body? I'm sure they must have. I haven't been quite the same since that night. What elegant hands you have, and how skillful. They played my body like a violin, plucking, stroking, drawing out sighs and moans from a place previously untouched. I felt them everywhere at once, too much and never quite enough. Your mouth followed behind, settling my hot skin, then feeding an urgency you never satisfied. You offered a finish, and a grand one, but I wanted more. I wanted to feel you pounding into me. I wanted, still want, you to own me completely.

Just thinking about it, I feel my body flushing, and a warmth spreads, little currents of lust. My nipples tighten, and that heat continues to spread as my breathing quickens. You damned tease. Hours of passion, you showed me a million things I never thought I'd feel, then you retreat to a platonic plain. Asshole. Like I don't notice that light in your eyes, that scratch in your voice. Like I can't tell when we are remembering the same thing.

One day, I'll call you on that. I want you to finish what you started. Actually, I want you to start it over, so I can savor every lick and touch again. I want you to devour me. Fuck me, shatter me. If I can't forget what you've done to me, at least give me something good to remember.