The sheets with tiny pink rosebuds, incongruously innocent, are tangled beneath us. Your lips travel slowly down from my earlobe to my neck, marking your territory. You stop at my collarbone; nipping it gently with your teeth before lifting your head to look at me.

Our shirts are lost somewhere on the floor, my bra discarded on the bed along with our socks. Jeans and underwear create the only barrier that separates us from each other’s skin. I want to know your skin as well as I know my own. Every scar, every freckle, every tattoo, every perfect imperfection.

Your hair is damp with sweat as you balance above me. Your eyes are dark, intense, questioning. I involuntarily bite my lip. I am already anticipating your fingers deftly unbuttoning, unzipping, removing the obstacles. You take me out of my always busy head, reminding me that I am flesh, I am fire when I am with you.

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

2 thoughts on “Fire

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