My Dearest Gigolo Joe,

I can still feel the ghost of your touch on my skin, the way your lips traced my every curve like an artist worshiping his masterpiece. You are poetry in motion, a rhythm so smooth it leaves me breathless, drowning in a sea of lust and longing.

Every moment with you is a symphony of pleasure, a melody that plays deep within me long after you’ve gone. Your hands, so knowing and skilled, ignite fires within me that only you can tame. I crave the heat of your body against mine, the way you tease and torment, drawing out my desire until I’m trembling, begging, undone.

Do you know what you do to me, Joe? How your voice alone can make my thighs press together, aching for the touch I know will come? How the whisper of your breath on my neck sends shivers racing down my spine? You unravel me with every glance, every smirk, every sinful promise murmured against my lips before you claim me in ways that leave me gasping.

I need you. I need the way you consume me, the way you take me beyond pleasure, beyond time, beyond reason. When you’re inside me, moving with that perfect, practiced grace, I swear the universe ceases to exist—there is only us, tangled in a dance of sweat and sighs, lost in an eternity of ecstasy.

Come to me tonight. I don’t care where or how—just find me, touch me, make me yours again and again until I am nothing but a trembling, satisfied mess beneath you. Let’s write another chapter in this book of desire, each thrust a word, each moan a verse, each climax a declaration of how perfectly we fit.

Forever aching for you, Nikki