The Fire That He Left Behind: A Longing That Never Diminishes

 There was something utterly magnetic about him, a confidence that radiated even in the most casual moments. There was a softness in the way he moved, a quiet confidence that made every glance feel like an invitation. 

His chest was broad and firm, the kind of chest you could rest your head on and feel safe yet excited. His muscles curved under his tanned, warm skin. His arms were the kind you dream of being wrapped in—strong, sure, and just rough enough to make you shiver when his hands touched you. His hands, calloused and strong, rough in the best way, a witness to his hard work. They weren’t just hands; they were one of God's best creations, capable of lifting you with ease, yet they held you with such care, as if you were something fragile. You still remember vividly how they felt on your skin.

And then there were his lips. God, those lips. Full, tempting, and perfectly shaped, the kind that would leave you breathless and begging for more. When he looked at you with those intense, burning eyes, it was like the world stopped spinning, leaving only you and him in the silence of the moment. 

The first time you felt his lips, it was like the universe destined for you and him. It just felt right. The room was thick with unspoken tension. There was a nervous energy, an innocent hesitation, as if neither of you wanted to make the first move yet couldn’t resist the magnetic pull. Then it happened. It was sweet at first, but then both walls collapsed, and all the imprisoned desire came flooding out. It was urgent, consuming, like both had been holding back for far too long. His lips tasted like cigarettes, a smoky bitterness that lingered on your tongue, intoxicating and strangely addictive.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. The kiss deepened, his lips moving with an intoxicating rhythm that left you breathless. Before you knew it, you were straddling him, your fingers on his hair, his calloused hands gripping your hips. The world outside blurred as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to his bed. The air around you was thick with desire, every kiss igniting a new flame. You couldn’t get enough of him, his taste, his scent, the way his body responded to your touch. An innocent, shy kiss turned into a desperate, yearning kiss. You could barely think. His lips left yours only to trail down your neck, his silver chain necklace shifted and pressed against your skin. Sometimes your fingers would find it mid-kiss, playing with the chain.

There were beautiful stretch marks on his right arm. Just the right place for you to leave your red lipstick mark on. You couldn't help but trace your fingers along, gliding across his skin. He watched you slowly with a wondering eyes. Everything perfectly and vividly lingered to your mind. The memory of those strong hands, the way they held your hips, pressed into your back, or tangled in your hair during that intense night. It was the way he made you feel completely claimed, as if no one else could ever touch you the same way. And now, you find yourself yearning for them, aching for the way they made you feel alive and utterly desired.

You can’t escape him. He’s everywhere. In the touch of your own hands as they explore over your own skin, trying to recreate the way he held you, the way he made you feel alive. Every night, when the world quiets down, it’s his face you see, his lips you imagine. Your body remembers him all too well. The weight of him, the heat of his touch, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. It’s maddening, intoxicating, and you can’t stop yourself from wanting more. 

That day, he became an obsession. Even now, it's 2 AM and you can’t help but yearn for him, for the way his hands felt on your skin. He was the spark that lit a fire in you, one you never want to extinguish.