conjugating desire

he pulled me close, my back to his tummy (how he always does), his lips in my ear. “practice makes perfect” he whispers clear. half trapped, half up against a wall “what are you gonna do now?” to kick? to scream? to lean in closer? i laugh. he she laughs. they laugh. drowsy and half hoping, i lean quietly. his arms enfold, he gently tickles – hisbreathhischeek on my neck. la bouche. les epaules. le cou. inhale. and turn my face. he holds me, makes silly jokes that sometimes i think are much more than jokes. to pick me up, to sing me songs. to jump into his arms. to tease and to sing and to make a duet. i need you at night, in the darkness when the curtains close. i love. he she loves. they love. i can still smell him in my room, i can feel his skin on mine. and who’s to say what we see in the dim light – the secretive glances cast askew. and we know. the way he pulls me close and won’t let go until I’m begging him for mercy, that’s exactly what he wants. his hands are strong and warm as they knead the muscles in my shoulders and my back, they roll my thoughts this way and that. half desiring him to grab onto my wrists and pull me down towards him. like he always does. he could overpower me easily and i think i like the way this goes. it kind of feels like shame when someone walks into the private thoughts and private touches. but really, it’s nothing… we’re nothing. oh yeah, i’d love to protect you and hold you close. wraps his arms around me, caged against his chest. i shouldn’t feel safe here. we jump at loud noises. we blush at the comments. at least, he does. but it never stops the hands around my waist on my shoulders warming my skin and sweeping me up. i flush. he she flushes. we flush. the things he says in my ear, tickling at my fancy and my hair, they make my skin crawl and my eyes drop. and you are always waiting for my fall.