Shiver

I step inside, anxious and scared, virginal.
Awaiting your delicate touch to caress my body.
The blinds and curtains are gone,
the vanilla candles are lit and casting erotic
shadows against the walls.
You kiss me.
Slowly. Slowly. Slowly.
The doors are closed and fogged
from your powerful kiss and the cascading waterfall.
You gently lift me and place me on the seat
as you continue the never-ending sensual tongue dance.
I run my fingers through your hair as you reach
for the coconut body wash and loofah.
I stand, facing you, wanting to taste you and your masculinity.
"No," you say. "Not yet, my love."
You turn me around, the water caressing my face
as you sensually wash me, traveling from the bottom
to the top, making sure to reach every crevice, every curve.
I moan.
I moan.
I moan.
Slowly you press against my back and I feel your hardness.
A kiss on my neck surprises me, creeping from the top of my spine
to my ear, touching the spot you baptized as yours a long time ago.
Your fingers make their way to my hair, grasping my curly tresses.
You pull my face back and look deep into my eyes.
I want you.
And you want me.
We kiss so powerful and passionately that I lose my balance.
You grab my waist and press harder against me.
I feel you as you slip inside.
Every stroke nice and slow.
I meet your thrusts, and our rhythm becomes one.