Own me

[Ba****]

Own me
Own me…” she breathed against my ear, the words trembling like silk in the dark.
There was a plea in her voice not of weakness, but of trust.
That fragile, sacred kind that only exists when two souls choose to surrender.

I felt her breath ghost along my neck,
and time itself seemed to slow, bending to the rhythm of her heartbeat.
She wasn’t asking for ***; she was asking for release
from her thoughts, from the noise, from the world that never truly saw her.

My fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her not with ***,
but with the promise that she would be seen, held, known.
The air shifted, heavy with anticipation,
and as her eyes met mine, she found the edge she’d been searching for.

No words were needed. Only breath.
Only the quiet hum of control and surrender intertwined,
like a prayer whispered between two souls who had stopped pretending.
The air between us thickened — that quiet hum before surrender,
where *** and longing blur into something sacred.
She trembled, not from cold, but from the storm building inside her.
I could feel it that trust, that ache to let go.

“Breathe,” I whispered.
And she did slow, uneven, then steady,
her breath falling into rhythm with mine.
Each inhale a promise. Each exhale a release.

I let my voice wrap around her like smoke,
low and deliberate, guiding her deeper,
past thought, past hesitation,
to the place where she belonged safe, silent, waiting.

She couldn’t see me now,
but she didn’t need to.
The connection ran deeper than eyes could follow.
It lived in pulse, in breath, in the quiet gravity between us.

“Good girl,” I murmured
and though I hadn’t moved an inch,
I felt her melt into the words,
like a flame bending toward the hand that lit it.