Release

You're sitting in your office downtown Chicago, and all i can think about is what it would feel like to have your lips on my neck.

I file your paperwork. You send a memo to the fax downstairs and an email that says you're the best. We talk so casually, but inside I'm sweltering- I want nothing more than to take that elevator up,

walk into your office,

slide you're wheely chair over,

and climb right on top.

I think about our eyes, locked, and our bodys girating together. Our lips, tentative and barely touching. Yours, teasing and trailing across my cheeks, down my neck and up to my ear. I want that rush through my veins and the chill on my skin.

I think about your fingertips through my hair; you grasping me greadily and your tongue on my tongue. the stifled breathing. the hurried shuffling to remove our jackets and the sound of release- of pure pleasure and lust. the sound of finally giving in to the feelings we hold and stifle. the feelings we write but wont share. the thoughts the seep through our bedsheets and land on our fingertips that trail our bodies, pretending, needing, wanting- release.