I thought of you, craving your silken _______.
I was shaking, fever raging from my ______ for you.
I imagined your __________, delicious and warm, and my _____ trembled,
unsated, needing your ______. From my window, there was a speck of a blood red moon, which only served to remind me of ______. I closed my eyes, needing rest, yet I thought of you still. My ________ won out.
I could taste you on my lips. I was dreaming while awake, hungering for your _________, recalling images of fingers exploring hidden places. The passionate nights fled without a visible trace, but left a trail of fire. And still I thought of you, pressing gently into me, wanting my ________ touch. The brush of your hair against my _______, a featherlike caress across my _______, a tempest unleashed.