Without touch I wouldn't be able to feel the rough skin on his sharp jawline.

My fingers leaving a path of goosebumps as they trail down his bare shoulders.

His soft chest rising faintly,

Falling faintly,

As my lips trace their way down his torso.

When his fingers intertwine with mine,

I run my thumb across his bruised knuckles.

When I kiss his neck, I can feel his pulse racing.

When I bite his lips, I can feel the blood aching to flow

Beneath my tongue.

Without touch, I wouldn't be able to feel the clenching of his teeth through his cheek,

Or the flexing of his arms,

Or the prominence of his collarbones.

I wouldn't be able to feel the strength in his palms

As they push down on my hipbones.

Or his teeth on my thighs.

I wouldn't be able to feel his hot flesh on mine.

I wouldn't be able to feel his lustful breaths on my skin.

I'd be unable to recognize the tightening of his hand

As it's gripped around my throat.

Without touch I would be left with nothing but the sound of his throaty voice,

The scent of the slightly dizzying cologne I bought him last Christmas,

And the taste of his caramel skin as my tongue runs across it.

I'd be left with that,

And that is simply not enough.