Thank You For Your Venom

Her tender kisses were hungry butterflies upon your flesh. How does one describe that rush of passion when you feel that deep, lustful kiss that permeates your very heart? It drills hard, to the core of your heart, gives you chills, makes you hungry yet not hungry. Every moment, every movement, each feels like its racing against the passage of time. And you hear her every whisper each time she's touched. Your ears burn for it, as does your soul, each one devilishly short, making your heart cry out for another- and when it reaches your ears, you feel it move you, calling out for more.  There's wonder behind them, a sense of satisfaction unending. As soft arms wrap around your face to embrace you in a kiss, you feel your eyes drop closed and the internal BPM crank up. You shake when she plays with your neck, whispers, breathes, moans in your ear; those noises somehow find themselves at the bottom of your ribcage. What she does with the rest of her mouth, to that ear, has no descriptor, despite it being beyond intense. Hands wander to destinations unknown- you rush to keep up, but are already lost in her lucious caresses. She rakes her nails down your back; you tell her you're ticklish, and the pleasure mixed with the pain only pushes you harder into the kisses you feed her.  Moans escape your lips, both in joy and in reflex of nerves awakened- her fingers, now eager to work harder upon realization of this sound. Her wrists pinned, she's helpless, loving every moment of your grasp - a sheer sign of enjoying your dominance. You sense that smile, deep in her eyes even though they're closed, this moment being something she's screamed for in dreams. Yet there's something about glaring up into those wicked eyes of a female knowing she has you in her grasp. Their deep blue only lure you into a false security, proving its faux existence when her actions cause eyes to slam shut and hands to tremble. That sense of feeling trapped only drives the emotions, while at the same time makes you pull her closer- or beg for more of what she's offering.  And how can one say no to that grin on her face, being so pleased from holding you under her nails? You don't know, but your mind debates to either enjoy this, or return the sweet torture she deals. Even after drenching yourself in warm, bubbly waters, you still smell her on you, and your lips are numb from all the work they've been put through. Your joints ache from moving so much, making no sense since time didn't exist then. An hour later, you look into the mirror, gazing at those marks she's left upon you, the branding she placed upon your flesh. Cool water cleanses them, but time makes them burn more almost as much as when they were inflicted. Despite the embarrassment, you can only help but smile- for each one of those lines, each one of those spots, are a pleasant reminder of venom injected with open arms into your heart.  Good luck sleeping tonight pardner. Your thoughts for the next few days have gotten more than a tiny bit cluttered. There's a tornado sweeping through, and one house will lie turned over a mile away while another is left unscathed.  Just try to look into her eyes and not smile; life's different, that's a fact. How you keep up with the rest of her wishes is for you to handle, but remember- never make a woman cry, because God counts every one of her tears.