Hot

Hot,

Her skin feels like it’s burning,

Temperature rising with every touch of his.

Hot,

Like electricity crackling through her nerves,

With every brush of his lips on her.

Soft,

His hair is soft on her fingers,

As she runs her hand through it,

Tugging fervently.

Hot,

Her soul feels hot,

Burning,

With every groan that tumbles out of his mouth.

Cold,

It’s cold,

The metal on her wrist,

Binding her to the bed post now.

But hot,

The rest of her is hot,

Under his lustful scrutiny.

Dark,

It’s dark,

The soft silk blocking her eyes,

But hot,

It is oh, so hot,

When he touches,

And she can’t see.

Hot,

His hands are hot,

Running down her body,

Slowly, reverently,

His mouth swallowing,

All the small noises she makes.

Cold,

The metal on her wrists are cold,

As she strains against them,

Aching to touch,

To burn trails down his body,

To taste the tan of his skin.

But hot,

Her body burns hot,

When he tastes her neck instead.

Dark,

The silk makes it dark,

But she can imagine,

The mess of his hair,

The darkness of his eyes,

The flush of his cheeks,

The light sweat on his forehead.

Dark,

The silk makes it dark,

But she can imagine,

And it makes her hot,

So hot.

Wet,

It feels wet,

As he licks her ear.

But hot,

It is so very hot,

As he whispers to her,

Her breath sending shivers down her spine.

Hot,

He calls it hot,

All the pretty noises leaving her mouth.

And hot,

Her body is burning hot,

With every touch,

Every lick,

Every kiss.

Hot,

Her body is still hot,

Even after she’s been unshackled,

Even after the ribbon around her eyes is gone,

Even after he collapses next to her, spent.

And as she drifts off to sleep,

A smile on her face,

Hot,

She still feels hot.