Contributor: E.S. Wynn

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Hot, wet– how it always begins,
The straining, the need, the hands,
The subtle tang of burnt flesh
Crawling along surging tongue, brushing desperate lips
Wildfire spreading from your chest
To mine
In a haze only tasted, leavings of something sensuously dark,
Carbon at it’s best, the blacksmith’s breath, as lovely and sadistic as it is
Exciting, arousing, the flavor of cauterized taboo,
Marking strength of soul like strength of hands,
Moving across my chest, my back, my hips
On other errands, each stroke and linger confident, assured
But they forget– it’s the desperate movement of coupled lips that does it– that taste.
Unforgettable.
As gorgeous and dark as your midnight hair, your native eyes.


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E.S. Wynn is the author of over 30 novels, the founder of Thunderune Publishing, and the chief editor of Weirdyear, Yesteryear Fiction and Daily Love.