Monogamy

I want him to want me. I want him to want me so much, it overpowers his doubts, mutes his objections. I want him to know nothing beyond wild passion for me. Then, I want him to fuck me. I want him to fuck me with his thoughts, the secrets he keeps hidden behind inexperience. I want him to fuck me with his eyes, those same eyes which steal glances down my low-cut shirts. I want him to fuck me with his words, his tongue dancing behind teeth to the tune of our hips pounding. I want his fingers inside of me, sliding along me. I want his lips, soft and wet, to take me into them as I writhe beneath the pathway to the goddess of don’t-fucking-stop. I want him to fuck me with his erection, the part of him no other human has touched. I want his desire to lead him to me, to all of this, but then I open my eyes and realize it could never be.