We danced once, such a brief mingling, bodies pressed close, heat on heat, ache against ache. That heat has yet to cool. The ache grew, despite the knowledge that we cannot dance again. Yet we did. We could not ignore the silent, strong cries of our bodies and souls. We could not ignore the insistent demands to touch and taste.
I can still taste you on my lips, my tongue. I can still feel your heat, the throbbing against my starving mouth, the quiver against my fingers. I can still remember the look in your eyes, like burning embers. Quiet, yet hotter than any flame, hidden passion wanting to erupt, dancing just under the surface.
I want to dance again. And as much as you may deny it, those embers still burn, still hide just beneath the surface, radiating your heat upon me, pleading for one more dance, for one more chance in my arms, for one more time to feel my tongue and lips and fingers dance against your hard flesh. Dance with me.
