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.
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
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.