I don't even know what to call it... Any words do not reflect reality - a crazy desire to give my tenderness to you is not included in the set of words familiar to me. I wanted to answer your question. You once asked him, laughing and looking with huge eyes.
"Did you see me naked?" The question made me laugh. I've seen everything you can. I saw you with your skirt pulled up, legs spread from caress, panties pulled off and discarded. I know you taste when you close your eyes and throw your hands behind your head. I know what words you start screaming (or whispering) from the pleasure of me. I know the shivering of the buttocks and thighs from the touch of my lips. I know your funny embarrassment at the wet sounds of bodies caressing each other. I still manage to see your face, touching your chest and stomach with my mouth. I know the touch of nipples to fingers and palms. I know the touch and the weight of your legs thrown up on my shoulders. I know your smile when you unzip my pants and start caressing with both hands.
I know your eyes and look when you start to undress for me. I know your face, embarrassment and joy, when my hands get inside your panties and you no longer resist (rather, on the contrary) their movement further and deeper. I know your face when you, whispering something, spread your legs wide apart, substituting anything for caress and eyes. I know your face in frank, directly primitive pleasure. I saw you in a shirt off my shoulder and underwear. And I saw you openly naked and opening your eyes, arms, legs towards me.
Do you remember the first time you opened up? I asked you for a long time, and you kept pulling the sheet over yourself. Finally, she spread her arms, spread her legs a little, and closed her eyes. I smiled and looked at you. It seems that you physically felt the eyes caressing you, and finally, bursting out laughing, pulled me to you.
I'm crazy about your touch. Legs move apart for you - hands, eyes, lips. You know what a pleasure it is to lift your head, to direct yourself into you, to see the gradual penetration and your face at the same time. For a while I still look at what you do. I enjoy every rhythmic movement of the lips that embraced me. And I hit you in the throat. Then the pleasure becomes unstoppable. You throw up a triumphant, soiled face - I smile towards you. You don't see the smile - you can't open your eyes. You hug me and drop your head somewhere in the lower abdomen. I wrap my arms around you and don't want to let go.
Clinging into me and my family. You know what I'm experiencing with you doesn't seem to have a name yet. It's stronger than passion.
Stronger than what is called love. The letter turned out to be quite sensual, but I wanted you to know about this as well.
I think I answered the question?