Animalistic not ritualistic he smells of crisp, fresh mountain air and of raw diamond shine. And you feel like a hollywood starlet, lavished with intensity of attention and passion. He moves evenly through your veins as he first works over your head and then your body. He moves deliberately over your nerve endings as he controls your movements in time and in space. You are hungry for that power. You crave that loss. You are driven to distraction by his words, his tone, his laugh.
He is satin gliding across smooth skin. He is ice-cream deliciously melting on soft tongues. He is.
The rhythm comes so distractingly easily, the pace, the tone, the feel, the consuming of time. The softness comes so tantalisingly simply, the respect, the admiration, the passion. The beat. The pause. The violence. The wide-eyes overcome with sensory load. The horror-shock groaning. The exquisite-pure release.
Comfortable in his skin and soul, and in those moments he makes you feel the same.
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