I kiss him as he writes.
Slowly, on his neck.
His breathing changes slowly.
I know he is aroused.
We do not keep going, when we do this, it is about the writing, not about the sex.
My body fuels him.
He writes in his lust, in his pleasure.
Once I heard him groan outloud,
just sitting at his computer.
One day he will work out how we can fuck as he writes a balance of concentration.
The most precious sentence...
written as we come.