Real as real can be

He doesn't get to give me orders, Henry, no one does, but that inimitable sound of his voice is like burgundy blood rushing through my veins every time he talks to me. He is a poison or a drug, an invisible substance that keeps my body warm and my mind awake.

It's not just the sex, I need someone to fuck me like I need to go to Macy's. It's in the way he does things as though they were extensions of his most honest fantasies. The way he waits so long to undress me, leaving me covered and exposed in equal amounts while he looks at me from above. The way he confidently lies down between my legs and just breathes slowly with his eyes closed, a fraction of an inch from my panties.

He makes me feel alive. When he touches me, even from across the ocean in a dream, he makes me feel as if I have something to live for. That's how I know I need to go to him.