Oh. Em. Gee.

Oh my god woman, you are going to frickin' kill me reaching into that upper cabinet wearing those jeans. Fuuuuuck. Meeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Please.

Good lord, seriously. I want to know you. I want to know all of you. I want to know your wants, your needs, your deepest darkest desires, I want to know what drives you, what gets you out of bed every morning. I want to know who you are. More than anything I have ever wanted in my life.

But I also want that thing. Fuck. I want that thing in my hands. I want it in my face. God, I want to feel it. My hands have never wanted anything more than to grab it, squeeze it, pull it apart.

Just give me five minutes with it, babe, ten. See what I can do with it. See what I can make you feel. See what I can make you do.

And, love, I want to make you feel everything. My fingers, my tongue. Make you squirm. Make you feel things you haven't ever felt before.

But baby, I'm going to do it with love. And reckless abandonment. It's going to be hectic. You are going to feel every inch of the decade of my desire, decade of waiting, decade of wanting to make that thing mine.

Fuck it, I love you.

Fuck it, I want to.

Fuck.

Also, thanks for inviting us over, man, that was real sweet of you. See you next week? Alright, sounds good!

Cyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas

(god, I am so fucking in love with you.)