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Don't get me wrong, I love the times when you love me sweetly, tenderly. I love when you grab at my hand and rock into me with a syrup slow rhythm, when you take the time to kiss me at the crook of my elbow, at the base of my throat, at the jut of my hip.

But, Santana, when you need me with desperation and with force, I can't control the fever that spreads over me or the want I feel deep in my stomach and between my legs.

Take me, I plead. Have me.

When we can't make it to the bedroom, when your kisses are hot and greedy, fast and urgent, when you thrust your hand against my center, I tremble for you.

I want you, I want you, I want you, you chant as you hold my body against the wall. You bite at my skin, nip it and knead it. You don't care that your hair is wild and that you are panting. You are so beautiful.

You were wild and beautiful that day at the kissing rock. All the kids went there to hang out, to escape their parents like you were doing. Pushing aside bushes and trees, you pushed me onto the flat rock, your eyes narrowing and finding me as if I were your prey. You wanted me like I've never seen before. It excited me. It scared me. You saw it in my face and you were afraid that you hurt me. Your eyes filled with tears.

But when I pulled you down on top of me, kissing you hardly, bruising my favorite lips, your fervor renewed. You were running away from your stifling household. You were allowing yourself to love me, fiercely and completely, without abandon, something we could never do at home.

I didn't care that the juts of the rock left their marks on my back, I cared that your hands were racing furiously over my skin, frantic. You clutched at me and shifted your thigh between my legs and I heard a guttural grunt emanate from me. I heard my name on your lips, too.

I'm yours, Santana. Make me yours.

There was no time to take my clothes off. You wanted me and I wanted to give you me. You shoved your hand to the warmest part of me, coating your fingers. My body vibrated with need for you, Santana. You were quick and deep and I was climbing quickly, on the verge of spinning. I sat up, and reached for you, drawing me to you as your arm worked to bring me closer and closer. I saw the muscles and your glistening tan skin clench and unclench with your fingers as I felt them inside me.

I kissed at your upper lip, capturing it, drawing it out. You let out a haggard breath and I kissed you hard, again.

I didn't want to take my eyes off of you, but you felt so good. I wanted to watch you, your eyes were closed tight and your brows furrowed. Your head fell back in pleasure, as if you were the one whose orgasm was impending.

Your lips parted and you let out shallow breaths and I felt your pace quicken. I could feel you, so deep. You pushed into me hard and I could feel my body shake and shiver. I couldn't keep in the curses as the coil in my stomach was reaching a snapping point. Oh, Santana, what you do to me.

One final curl of your fingers and the coil of want and need snapped, swallowing me. I felt myself pulsing against your fingers, I felt myself in excruciating ecstasy, I felt myself unable to breath.

Baby, you always whisper after I come. Baby, you say, placing soft kisses at my throat, just under my chin, under my jaw, under my ear. Baby, you murmur.

I opened my eyes to find yours and can't help the swell of emotion I feel at having you. I love you.

Please, Santana, always and forever, want me the way you wanted me at the kissing rock.