And only if you hadn't told me I should've slept, I wouldn't had ran my fingers on your legs. I shiver too, as you do with your arousals, raising your waist. That's my gateway to a night of moans. I never doubted myself of knowing your body better than your man, never have I hated getting lost in between your legs, drenched in warm potions of lust. Trust me when I say, "God knew he was an artist when he started carving your legs, perfectly."
I knew I was a canvas and you were the masterpiece painted by him, over me. Yes, all fucking over me!