Tidal Seduction

The night is heavy with longing,
thick with the scent of salt and desire.
I stand where the waves reach for me,
bare beneath the open sky,
nothing between me and the elements,
nothing between me and the ache.

The tide teases, lapping at my thighs,
cool fingers tracing where heat blooms.
Each pull, each retreat, a lover’s game,
whispering promises against my skin,
wet and wanting, urging me deeper.

The wind stirs, wrapping around me,
lifting my hair, caressing my curves,
a phantom touch that isn’t enough,
isn’t you—but I pretend.

I slide my hands over my body,
fingertips grazing where I burn,
where your lips should be,
where your tongue should explore,
pressing, tasting, taking.

My nipples tighten in the night air,
aching for a mouth that isn’t there,
for the heat of breath against flesh,
for the wet drag of tongue and teeth,
for the weight of your hunger pinning me down.

I let the waves climb higher,
let them claim more of me,
as I tilt my head, part my lips,
imagine your hands gripping my hips,
your body against mine, slick and urgent,
a slow, torturous rhythm before the storm.

My thighs tremble, needing more,
needing you, needing the way
you would press me against the wet sand,
the way your body would own mine,
the way our moans would drown beneath the tide.

But the night is empty, the beach silent,
except for the waves and my breath—
ragged, uneven, desperate.

Still, I move for you,
as if you were here, as if you were watching,
as if the ocean itself could satisfy the hunger
only you were meant to feed.

The waves crash, fierce and unrelenting,
rising, cresting, spilling over—
just as my body does,
writhing against the pull of the tide,
hips lifting, thighs trembling,
a shuddering moan lost to the wind.

Fingers clutching at the wet sand,
toes curling as the pleasure breaks,
rolling through me like the sea itself,
pulse by pulse, wave by wave,
until I am nothing but sensation,
drowned in the depths of release.