Every night she comes to him right before he falls asleep.
She gently kisses his lips, whispers his name and strokes the very core of him to life. His mind numbs. His body shudders. He reaches out to touch her. Her form slips through his fingers like smoke on the wind. It leaves him drunk with need.
What is she? An angel in his dreams, a figment of his imagination?
But he feels her.
He feels the warmth of her heavenly body melting into his and the wetness of her sex gliding down his erection. The sensation brings him to tears. If only he could wrap his arms around her…
Time and time again, she takes him to the peak of fulfillment. She leaves him bathed in his own secretions, exhausted, yet needy for more.
He begs her to allow him the slightest touch, to caress her skin, to run his hands over her womanly curves.
She giggles and gifts him with that impish smile and sweet kiss. “Until tomorrow night, my love,” she promises on a fading whisper.
Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
My winged lover.
Copyright © Yvonne Nicolas 2012
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