Dec 05, 2005 07:20
Oooh its cold, my hands are like two blocks of ice ready to burn on your hot skin. Lips wet and breath shared in a rush of need, the burning finding your own furnace, ice melting suddenly into a pool of wetness and fire. Lifting, parting, sharing, devouring, touching, tasting; passion a cure for the winters touch.
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I would love to warm you
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