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I long for a deep, passionate kiss. The kind that I could feel burning in my whole body, with blood rushing so I flush, that leaves me breathing hard and my heart beating so loud I can hear it. It would catch me off guard, the way it came on. But my whole body would cry for it. I will have been waiting for it for eons. It would taste hot and wet. He would be searching for my soul in his kiss, with his lips and his tongue, and his hands in my hair, on my shoulders and back and face, cupping my jawline to position me just right, just where he wanted me, needed me. I'd be helpless, mindless, aware only of him and the magic of what he was doing to me, making me feel involuntarily, making my body need his body. We would fit together without our bodies even touching.
Sometimes I imagine how he would approach me. I imagine him focused on my mouth, as if it were the only path to satisfaction, as if my body did not exist. But of course my body would know his body already, having felt its nearness across many a crowded room, across town and country. He would be hungry for me, having desired my kiss always. Our mouths and tongues and breath would mingle and dance probing, searching, tasting, needing. After a long while, he would kiss my face, my cheeks, my eyes, ears, and neck in a soft and urgent frenzy, whispering, making my knees weak and my breath catch. And then back to my mouth. And it would never end. And he would whisper my name, with longing and wonder.
With my arms around him, on his back, around his neck, in his hair, clinging. I would hold him close, pulling him into me, locking him against me so I could meet his kiss, answering his call to my core. To get lost in this kiss. That's where I long to be.
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