The game is afoot

Moloko / Lady Gaga / HIM / Justin Timberlake - Join The Poker House (Robin Skouteris Mix)

The light had just begun to go down.  The sun sought its rest in the loving embrace of the horizon.  She welcomed her lover with open arms.  Longing for the union of the two.  Under the growing canopy of darkness, reality would repair.  It would take a rest.  In the space of sanctum, dreams would take flight.

So, she lay.  Her supple recline extravagant.  Her shirt split just so.  The slight reveal.  The beckon hidden of a reveal only so slightly.  With a brush, only a breath , a tantalizing trace would cause the flimsy fabric camouflage to be swept away.  Her eyes, hidden in dark beauty, burn.  To conquer, to captivate, to comfort?  She would reveal nothing.

Save the desire burning in her lips.Though pursed, they had pierced him.  Her long locks were cast to the side.  She presented herself to him, unabashed.  All he had to do was touch.  All he had to do was trace.  She would wait.  All the while her desire burned.

He began soft slow.  The trace.  The standing boundary of her glory, her hair, bordered the sides so elegantly.  It was part of her seduction.  His soft touch pulling it back was a part of his.  All a part of the soft dance slow, that burned red hot.  Time was not their ally.  Scheduled moments of seclusion were rare and constantly fleeting.  Yet the most would be made of their quicksilver moments.  The world had its rules, but now that they were in the world of the two, they were the lords and ladies of all that transpired in their kingdom.

The lean towards was met by her rise against.  Lips, longing for union melted one into the other.  His hand traced along the edge of the fabric.  The black yielded so readily to his draw along the periphery.  Her arch, her intensity, showed her hunger.  The travel under, the journey into the hidden he knew so well delighted both.  His trace forever amazed by the burning yielding flesh of her soft that longed for the touch.  The travel.  From top to bottom.  The passion of her kiss grew in their fury.  Desire longed to become actual.

His kiss traced further down.  Drawing passion as it journeyed down her jaw so strong.  The slight sight of the lace holding darker circles below tantalized.  In the seclusion of the sanctum they had formed she forgot the world, concentrated only on her desire for his trace to press, just a little furhter, to fall until it reached its goal.

He knew his kisses burned across her flesh so soft.  He felt the electricity rise.  Drawing power, drawing desire from her very pores.  His soft kisses circled.  The slow movement around points that rising to meet the embrace, the glancing touch, the teasing flick, his tounge softs press against her hard vaulting electric longing for his touch.

So he traveled.  His touch pressing towards her heat, as her fingers felt for his prize.  To feel,  He loned to be enveloped, she loned to be consumed.  The heat burnt fierce in anticipation of sliding friction in anticipation.  The union so longed for would soon be met.  The game is afoot.