I want you when I’m naked.
But the moments I desire you most are when I’m clothed, barricaded against the fingers that grasp and hold.
Your whispers that seek to unmake me from the inside out, without even the slightest touch.
A hand, pushed between waist and waistband, breath sucked in to create space for the invasion.
The feel of my hastily unbuckled belt, hips twisting to allow access, close quartered caresses that suggest possession.
These are the moments that mean most.
You make me wanton, unrepentant, a sexual creature comprised of arched back, tensed thigh and audible gasps aplenty.