Lying in bed, my head buried in the pillow, half on my back and on my side, my shoulder thrown back, my breast thrusts forward. The phantom man in my imagination needs the nipple jutting out so enticingly.
He takes it in his mouth, sucking, biting, nipping. He grasps it in his hand, kneading, pinching, pulling. My moans of pleasure fill the room. With my eyes still closed, half asleep, I roll over on my back.
His hands pull away the blankets that I’ve snuggled in for hours, the cooler air raising goosebumps across my flesh. Uncovered, his warm hands slowly push up my shirt, uncovering both full breasts and dusky pink nipples, tightening in the cool air. My stomach clenches and jumps at the foreign touch of a man’s hands on my skin. His thumbs rub small circles into my flesh as he grips my waist and hips.
My legs part unconsciously, ready for his weight. Pulled towards him, I open wider, moaning in anticipation, waiting. In one smooth stroke, he enters me, as my eyes open wide to finally look at him, knowing he claims me as his…my phantom man.