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Martacag

His lover digits traced the contour of the man’s upper arm by deliberate hesitation, as she were learning that softness from bare skin.
Warm whisper grazed over bare throat and then softly she moved closer, the two bodies aligning through growing yearning.
The man answered through a slow lingering lips and it intensified just by degrees, drinking her patience of his lover’s patience.
Any brush continued slow, tracing instead instead of possessing, feeling shared desire build amid delicate pulses.
When her voice at last breathed the sound upon his skin, that sound carried both care mixed with want.
Through that shared pause she and he reached an intimate pace which seemed not so much of impatience and far more more a secret that the lovers between the lovers might guard.
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