No one has ever looked at me the way you look at me. You make me feel as if the word beauty was invented just for me, so that you would have a way to articulate the way I affect you physically.
You make me feel calm, and centered — but more alive than I’ve ever felt. I’ll say something inconsequential, but you’ll look deep into my eyes and caress my cheek as if each word I say is the most important thing you’ve ever heard.
You grab my hips and pull me against you, as you trace my curves with your fingertips — appreciating every inch of my body. I watch you drink me in, and I revel in the attention. I pull your head close to mine, and as I stare into your deep green eyes, I already can’t wait to feel you inside of me.
"Piano, piano" you tell me. You always make me wait.
As I feel you pull my hair back so you can gently kiss my neck I feel the scruff of your beard scratch my skin and I smile to myself with the familiar intimacy. “Bésame,” I tell you — pleading. Wanting nothing more than to feel your lips on mine.
As our tongues explore each other, curious and unhurried — I feel you enter me and I gasp quietly with that first sensation of pleasure.
I feel your body rock against mine, with mine.
And as we both come I dig my nails into your back, leaving scratches that will remind you of me for days.
I feel your muscles shudder with exertion as you collapse on me and shower me with a thousand delicate kisses. My forehead cheeks, lips, collarbone, breasts — you’ve left nothing out, making sure every inch of me received some of your attention.
And as we lay in my bed, sweaty and basking in the everglow I look at you, and I can’t believe I met you on the damn subway. And I smile shyly to myself, unable to believe my good luck — praying for the first time in years, that I won’t mess anything up.
Because we deserve each other.
I look for you in everyone.