In the Curve

It is in the curve you belong, your body and mine as one, your hands hovering over the arching line, drawing in the heat, the shine of the light, hovering, taunting my desire, inflaming this need, hovering, relishing the urgency prickling my skin, hovering, hovering, the space between us cruelly intact, hovering, hovering, before making landfall at last, before touching, before meeting, before easing, prising open the flesh dripping its want, your dark gaze, your ravenous mouth drinking me in, drinking me down, your thick cock plunging into the embrace of my most intimate ache, plunging into this clutching cunt, your imposing form surrendering its burden, its weight, the weight bearing upon, baring your soul, your hips a piston, furiously slamming, fucking, taking possession of the woman whose cries of pleasure threaten to bring down these walls, whose cries of pleasure, whose velvet fire, whose unerring passion threatens to shatter, to break you both.