Klasma: "I love..."

« I love….

I love it when you call me love. It might seem very silly to you, but I have never been called an endearing word like this one before. It makes me feel as if I could be seen as something else than just useful or dangerous. It makes me feel as if I could be lovely and have something positive attached to me you know? How important it is to me that when you look at me you see something good and you feel compelled to call me love rather than anything derogatory. I am forever grateful for this, no matter how long we stay together, I will always be grateful for this. 

I love it when you touch me. I'm talking about how affectionate you can be. I'm talking about the gentle stroke of my cheek or your hugs. I love it when your arms sneak around my back or my waist and you pull me into a tight hug. I love it because it makes me feel alive. it reminds me that I do have needs too and I do need to be touched, even so naturally. It gives me butterflies in the stomach and it makes my heart flutter. I love it when you touch me because it makes me feel desirable. It tells me that my company is enjoyed, maybe even needed. It feels good too. it feels good to be close to you, to hear your heartbeats, to feel your warmth. So please, don't stop touching me. Don't stop holding me. Don't stop caring for me. 

I love the way you give in to me, trusting, without any restraint when we make love. I love the way you allow me to use magic to make you feel good, to turn you into a puddle of nerves just because I can. I love the way you lose control and you can't really believe that it's happening! I love the way your blue eyes stare at me as I do my best to make you feel good. I love the way you make me squirm when you're in charge. I love the way you meet my needs and feed my cravings for you. I love the way you fuck me and make me trail off. I love that we complement each other, that we feed off of each other, that we become one.  

I love it when you show me your hybrid form. It is part of you. It is not something to be ashamed of or to hide. You can't help what was done to you or who you are. you can't help it and I am not afraid of you. I am not afraid of this face... of your fangs... of the veins protruding on your face. I am not afraid of the anger you might express or the helplessness as you hurt those around you or you destroy what is around. I am not afraid of you and I feel humbled that you trust me enough to show me that side of you. 

I love it when you bite me. When you take away the sexual component of such an act (and the pleasure I derive from being bitten), it is a communion between you and me. You give me pain and pleasure. You take blood from me, blood I willingly give to you. I feed you. I heal you. I let you savor my taste. It's an intimate gesture, one of trust, one of love....It is something I insist on doing because I want you to remember that I care for you. I want you to remember that there is someone out there, who will willingly give you their blood and let you sink your fangs on them because they love you. And I love it when you do it because I know you trust me. You wouldn't do it otherwise. 

I love to watch you do something you love like painting. You have the most relaxed face ever. you're just enjoying your life, painting, staring at the luscious scenery before you. And you talk about art, about painters you've met throughout your life, about artists who have inspired you.  You delve into beautiful memories, moments of your past that you enjoyed and where you didn't hurt. This is the life I want to build for us, a life where you would be free to explore what you love, without being worried or caring for the world. I want you to have a nice life, where you would have good relations with your family and where you and I.... where we could... build our own family as well. 

I love you. »