A Candles Submission

February 18

The candles bow to me,
their flames bending low
as if they know
The ancient energy in this room.
You stand at the edge of flickering light,
breath unsteady,
Head bowed
eyes lifted
but not quite meeting mine.
I cross the distance slowly.
Steadily.
Not because I have to,
but because I enjoy
the way anticipation tightens the air
like a taut guitar string.
“Look at me.”
The command is as velvet.
It wraps around your mind.
You obey.
And I see it.
That quiet ache in your gaze,
that hunger you try to disguise
as innocence.
I touch your chin.
Not roughly.
Not yet.
Just enough to remind you,
how easily I could lead you
anywhere.
The air is thick
With the smells of wax and heat.
Your skin blushes
Under the heat
Of its own fire.
You think I don’t notice
the way your breath stutters
when I circle you,
but I notice everything.
Longing is an intoxicating thing.
I let you keep yours.
But for only a moment longer.
Because dominance is not ***.
It is control.
Of you,
of myself,
of the space between our bodies
that trembles like a held note.
“Come here.”
And when you do,
when you close that final inch,
I claim your mouth
with a kiss that tastes of promise
and restraint.
I could take more.
You know it.
I know it.
But tonight,
I want you burning.
I want you learning
how exquisite it is
to ache under my patience.
The candles flicker.
The shadows bend.
And you stay exactly
where I want you.
Hands in mine,
heart racing, waiting for permission
to unravel.