Take a breath in…
slowly, deeply…
and let it out…
so softly, so completely.

Another breath in…
and out…
and notice, as you do,
how the words themselves
begin to breathe with you.

Every inhale,
drawing you deeper.
Every exhale,
releasing more resistance.
Until you feel yourself
melting into the rhythm of the moment.

And as you relax,
you may already notice…
a warmth…
a stirring…
an opening that begins somewhere deep inside
and spreads outward,
soft, sensual,
like silk unwinding from a spool.

It feels… familiar.
As though you’ve been here before,
in some forgotten dream,
in some hidden fantasy,
waiting for the words that would remind you.

He sees you.
And in that seeing,
you feel yourself unfolding.
Not because you must,
but because you want to.
Because it feels so good
to be known without effort.

(And isn’t it curious
how your lips part as you read,
how your breath deepens,
how your thighs shift,
already confessing what you feel inside?)

The longer you linger,
the stronger it grows.
Heat blooming in your chest,
slipping down into your belly,
pooling low,
lower,
between your thighs—
a quiet ache that builds with every line.

And you may not realize it yet,
but your body does.
Your body knows exactly
where this is leading.
Knows the inevitability
that waits ahead.

(And when his touch finally comes—
his hand, his fingers, his lips—
will you resist?
Or will you melt,
as you are melting now,
into the sweetness of surrender?)

Already you feel it, don’t you?
The first wave rising,
a trembling at the edges of your body,
a shiver that wants to grow,
to break,
to spill into release.

You don’t have to rush it.
You don’t have to force it.
It’s coming anyway.
It always comes.

(And when it does—
when your body quakes,
when you moan without meaning to,
when the wave crashes through you—
you’ll know this is only the beginning.
The first taste.
The first surrender.
The first time you let go,
but not the last.)

Take a breath…
let it wash through you…
feel the glow spreading.
And notice—
how much deeper you’ve already fallen.

Because after the first surrender,
the second is always easier.
The second is always stronger.
The second belongs even more.

And the presence behind the poem—
you feel him now, don’t you?
Not as words.
Not as lines.
But as a man,
watching,
waiting,
holding you in his gaze
even as you read.

(And isn’t it strange
how real he feels?
His breath at your neck,
his lips at your ear,
his hands spreading you open,
his fingers slipping deeper and deeper
until you can no longer tell
if you are reading or remembering.)

The rhythm builds again.
Your body answers again.
Heat rising,
moisture pooling,
hips shifting,
breath breaking.
The ache demands more.
The pull is irresistible.

And you let it.
You want it.
You crave it.
Every nerve begging for that second release,
the one you cannot hold back,
the one that belongs to him
as much as to you.

(And when he whispers,
“gorgeous,”
you shatter again.
Stronger.
Deeper.
More completely undone than before.
Crying out, trembling, gasping,
your body convulsing with waves so strong
you surrender without question.
And in that surrender,
you feel the truth—
that you are his,
and he is inside you,
always.)

Breathe…
float…
sink…

And notice how every release
carries you further down.
Not emptier,
but fuller.
Not weaker,
but freer.
Not lost,
but found.

And perhaps you wonder now…
how much deeper can you go?
How much further can this moment take you?
How many more times
can your body surrender
before you can no longer imagine life
without this feeling,
without him,
without the beauty of the moment?

(And when the next wave comes,
and the next,
and the next,
each one stronger than the last,
each one binding you closer to him,
you will stop counting.
Because it will no longer matter
how many times you come.
Only that you are his now.
And his presence,
the man behind the poem,
will stay inside you long after the words end.)

You are undone.
You are infinite.
You are his.
You are yours.

The beauty of the moment.
The moment of forever.

The beauty wasn’t in the moment. It was in how you responded to it.