It wasn’t the rose


It wasn’t the sand, the hugs, the rose, or the small talk that made me still smell the ocean from that night.
It was the way we rushed into each other with such deep craving.
The way he kissed me deeply, making me feel desired and missed.
It was the way he lifted my dress slowly making me shake with excitment with every touch of his finger tips.
It was the way he entered me for the first time, fueling my hunger I had for his touch.
It was the way both of our hearts rushed and our throats gasped for air.
It was that erotic, explosive way he made love to me, that still makes my stomach drop everytime I go back to that night.



2 thoughts on “It wasn’t the rose

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