I miss the way you fucked me.
Like you were touching something fragile but starving to break it. I miss how soft and nasty your voice sounds when you were spearing how much you needed me, groaning my name. I miss your hands holding me tight when you were almost there asking me to come with you. I miss the way you looked at me like I was art made specially for your taste. I miss the way you bite my lip kissing me gripping my hips. And I miss how you put me in your lap, holding me close to you after we were over and breathing heavy with sweat all over our bodies. Darling, we wrote stories in the fog on your car's windows.
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