Jump to content

Recommended Posts

Ha****
I don’t rush.
You’ll notice that first.
I enter quietly, but the air changes. You’ll think it’s the lighting, or the way the music fades for a second, or how your skin wakes up like it’s remembering something.
But it’s me.

I take my time.
If you’re paying attention, you’ll feel it before I ever speak.
The heat behind my glance. The way I don’t look away.
The way I already know what you’ll do if I keep looking.
I don’t ask. I don’t explain. I wait.
Because I want the moment you decide you want to offer something.
Not because I asked for it—because you need to.
Because I’ve made you need to.

I move slowly.
When I touch you, it will be deliberate. Bare skin, fingertip, pulse.
I want to know what changes in you when I make contact.
I want to feel how you hold yourself still for me.
I want to hear your breath shift when I lean in close and say your name like it tastes good.
And I want you to stay there—right there—on the edge of movement, trembling between want and wait.

You won’t know if you’re allowed to touch me.
You won’t be sure if this is the moment I’ll kiss you, or pull away and say nothing.
That uncertainty? I live in it.
I build inside it.
Because when I finally do reach for you, when I press my mouth to yours, slide my hand between your thighs, tilt your head back and whisper now—
You’ll feel everything all at once.

It won’t be a scene.
It won’t be a performance.
It’ll be a moment that splits you open.

And I won’t ask if you’re ready.
I’ll already know.

Because I’ve been watching.
The way your fingers twitch when I walk by.
The way your eyes drop when I speak low.
The way you swallow harder when I sit across from you, legs parted, still.
The way you try not to move too fast.

And when I do decide to give you what you want—
Not all at once. Slowly. Over time. Like heat spreading through silk—
I will press you into the floor, into the bed, into yourself,
And take everything you’re offering without saying a word.

I don’t need to be loud.
You’ll remember me in the silence.
In the ache behind your knees.
In the mess you didn’t know you were capable of becoming.
In the way you keep hearing my voice when your hands are on your body, alone in the dark, whispering the things I never said out loud.

That’s how I want you.

Wrecked. Reverent.
Ruined, just enough to come back wanting more.
GreyHog

Careful... I warned you, baby girl... B|

×
×
  • Create New...