Listen to my voice.
Can you hear me?
I know I'm not that loud, not that brash - I know my accent is soft and lilting. I know that my laugh is a high, girlish laugh and that my sighs are nearly nothing - but right now, in the soft candlelight, in the heat by the fire - right now, I need you.
Can you hear it?
Listen, really closely. Listen to the sound of my fingers on my skin, the sound of my touch. This - this is my hands on my breasts. Soft at first, then hard - squeezing my nipples, pulling them out to you.
Did you hear that? That was the sound of my heat rising.
A moan escapes me. I can't help it. It's always been about my nipples for us, hasn't it? You love how I love them; I love how you love them.
I saw another man looking at them, today. My nipples were hard, pointing behind that cream shirt you bought me. I was wearing the lace bra. I knew he could see the dark circles behind the white lace. I knew he could see the way my nipples caught at the lace, my full breasts straining behind the thin cream silk.
I caught him staring, and he looked away.
I smiled. You would have liked that, wouldn't you? You would have liked knowing that he wanted me, but that you had me.
Do you hear the sound of my fingers, now searching deep inside of me? The sound of my juices?
Your name is on my tongue, your taste on my skin -
Listen, hear me come.