I want my words to be sweet and tender to successfully express the smoothness of your skin, this afternoon there. I need to invent words to say how much heat your body against mine got upset. Slowly, taking your time to not m'effaroucher, you knocked my stuffs. Slowly, taking your time to not m'effaroucher, you melted my fears. In your eyes, I saw it, luscious and voluptuous woman I become your hands. And I found it beautiful. I loved the sensual woman I became, that day, in the tenderness of our hugs.
I would like my words are sweet, hot, hot for you to know that the disorder is mine when your hands on my skin scatter a world of bliss. I would like to know how to express the depth of my desire for you and me coming out of your mouth as soon as wailing took possession of my lips. I would name the magic by which the mere presence of your body close to mine enough to run this honey so sweet ... Put into words what makes against you, all I want to moan. The impalpable exchange that occurs and that leads me to enjoy kisses of your own ...
I want my words t'enivrent for you to feel you, too, this delicious giddiness that caresses our cause in me. I want to succeed in expressing this feeling is exhilarating and dizzying mine off when I lose. When I give myself to you and our pleasures.
But my words are pale, dull, imperfect.
In fact, there's only one who could tell you ...
"Again ..."
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