yours for an hour.

 It's two am.

The heat of your
breath burns my
sensitive flesh
as your mouth
attacks my shoulders
like a starving dog.

Your hair falls 
across my neck
at the perfect angle,
invoking involuntary
giggles from me.

You whisper
into my skin all
of the things that
you would love to do
to make me writhe
and scream your name.

Your dominating hands
firmly grasp my
open thighs in what
I can only assume 
is a sign of possession.

I can't help but 
to laugh aloud.
How can I be yours
when she is sitting 
at home waiting
for your call?

It's after three am
and you are pulling
your shoes on,
ready to head out
the open door.