I dream of the luxury of laying beside him, maybe tucked up into the nook of his shoulder/neck/chest holding hands or fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. My hand would inevitably find his cock through his trousers and he’d sigh and flex it as I teased him. We’d dispense of our clothes and come back together, frissons of delight and so much delicious bare skin. We’d be kissing and there’d no doubt be a few nips and bites, tongues suckled and and lips plumped with anticipation. It would be impossible not to kiss down his chin and chest, a lick to his perfect, shallow navel, to rub my face in his pubic hair. Breathing his smell in and feeling his hands on my head and neck is a moment I have played in my imagination a thousand times; cheek and chin skimming his penis, my lips parting to kiss his thighs and nibble back up to take him into my mouth. I want to hold him there and pet his sensitive head with my tongue, warm suction making him sigh or moan, and softly curse under his breath. I’d pull my mouth off of him with a slippery pop and smile, eyes turned to him, both of us with wet, parted lips, both of us engrossed. He’d lay back, drained from his day, and play with my hair, swiping it back from my cheek to watch his own cock disappear and reappear over and over, into the hollow of my mouth and the clench of my throat. In not so very long, his thighs would clench and his back would stiffen and he’d quietly groan and hold my head as far down his cock as my mouth would allow and he’d anoint my tongue and throat with his come. I would suck him softly as he finished, and adore his softening cock. His whispered “Good girl,” and a smile would be a soothing reward as I slipped up against him again, to be kissed, to be held, and to listen to him fall asleep.

Violet Fawkes

Violet Fawkes (she/her) is a freelance writer and sex blogger focusing on pleasure education, erotic fiction, and the intersection of identity, kink and mental health.