Oh god

“Oh god”, I moan. A water droplet finds its way from the tips of my hair onto my shoulder and continues to descend across my collarbone towards my chest. I bite my lower lip, as I often do for no particular reason (or when I’m horny), which is why I rarely wear lipstick although I do think it looks good on me. It makes me feel self-conscious too. I lick my lips, softly. Now they’re slightly wet, and the lipstick that could have been there would have been gone. I will dry in the afternoon sun on the top-floor apartment’s balcony. This makes me feel thirsty.

Sometimes, when I’m thirsty I like to kiss and get hydrated from the exchange of saliva. Now, I drink water. Other times, a kiss leaves my lips aching for more. I like to kiss, and I like to be kissed; subtle, hard, sober, low-key, sweet, and sharp, but never ironic. The touch of my lips is sincere. It is something one w/should ask for. You could, straightforwardly, offer to kiss me right where the droplet evaporated on my slightly sun-baked body.

I would pull you closer. Upfront, I am the centre of attention but there are so many places my lips could go. My cheeks turn red. The thought alone does not leave me unaffected. I’m cheeky, I know. It’s my presumption to get you hard when I get wet. I fantasise about your longing, in that moment. How you (both) wanted me. How I couldn’t think straight; my mind was then affected by alcohol but the lust remains.

Would the shower have been big enough for three? Or would I be dried off by you? One towel between us. You touching me; kissing. Hands around my tits, again, hands down. Fingers inside of me. As mine are moving faster; I’m getting close.

You should taste me. I might suck. I prefer salty flavours, to wash the sweetness of Spanish vermouth away. Pull your mouth against me, and tell me if it’s to your liking. “Fuck me”, I moan tongue-in-cheek but admittedly feeling hot and soaking. Would you nibble on my nips, or bite me, when I’m getting licked? Have fun in me-centred pleasure positions. Cum over me.