You feel it, don’t you…?
That slow, soft warmth…

It feels like the memory
of fingers that haven’t touched you yet—
but already know
where to press,
where to linger,
where to coax you
open.

It begins
in places
you can’t name with words…

But your body knows them.

They are like quiet secrets
buried in your breath—

In the pause
just before you exhale…
when your thoughts blur,
and something inside you
softens…
spreads…
yields.

He doesn’t rush.
He doesn’t need to.

Because the way he desires you
is deeper than skin,
hungrier than lust.

He desires the parts of you
you’ve kept quiet…
The beautiful truths
you hold close
when you’re alone.

And the more you try not to think about that…
the more you feel it.

Spreading now.
Pooling low.
A warmth that grows heavier
with each word you read…
with each breath
you forget to take
just a little
too slowly.

You notice it now,
don’t you?

How easy it is
to sink into this feeling.

To follow it
like a voice
you trust more than your own thoughts—

Like honey
dripping
down
your thighs.

Because he doesn’t just look at you.
He sees you.

He sees what you crave.
He breathes in the longing
you thought no one could detect.

He hears the ‘yes’
you haven’t said yet…
but your body has.

You remember what it’s like
to ache,
don’t you?

That delicious, fluttering hunger
you feel in your stomach
when you’re about to be
cherished…

When the tension builds,
and your lips part—
before you realize why.

Because when he’s close…
you forget every reason to resist.

You forget how to say no
to the part of you
that’s been whispering yes
in every quiet moment
you thought was yours
alone.

You know that moment…

Where you hold your breath,
hoping
he’ll take one more step…
press a little deeper…
say the one thing
that makes you come
gloriously undone.

And he does.
Of course he does.

Because he’s taken the time
to know you.

He knows exactly
what your heart
has been waiting for.

He gives it to you—
slow…
sharp…
and mercilessly tender.

Like thunder in lace.

Like his mouth
between your thighs,
where all your thoughts dissolve
into a silent
yes.

And you feel it now,
don’t you?

The push and pull…

The way he gives…
then receives…
then gives
again.

Every pause is a promise.
Every silence is an invitation.

Every word
is a hand resting gently
against your throat of thoughts—

Not to claim you…
But to guide you.

To remind you
who you are
when you let
go.

And you do.

With every breath
that comes slower…
With every thought
that slips further…

You drop.

And the deeper you go…
the better it feels.

Because going deep
isn’t falling—

It’s being held
open
and poured into.

It’s being known
before you remember
how to hide.

He is inside you now.

Not just in your mind—
but in the delicious twitch
of your thighs…

In the echo of your heartbeat
that suddenly feels louder
between your legs.

He devours you
with attention.
With reverence.

With a desire
as thick as velvet.

He peels you open
with words
that feel like fingers.

He tastes your surrender
like a sacred offering.

He doesn’t ask.
He receives.
And he gives
again.

And the more you give…
the more you become.

Because being with him
feels so much
like becoming
more of yourself.

Isn’t it strange…
how being completely seen
can feel so much
like being
found?

And maybe…
that’s the part
you never knew
you needed—

To be found
in the ache…

In the place
where you stop pretending
you don’t want to be
cherished…
and worshipped…
and undone
by love.

That place…
right there…

Where you feel it
now.

Deep.
Dripping.
Utterly free.

Where thought ends.
Where breath melts.
Where you say yes
without
a sound.

You’ll keep coming back here,
won’t you?

Back to this voice.
Back to this warmth.
Back to the feeling
of being wanted—

This much.
This deeply.
This completely.

Because surrender
isn’t weakness.

It’s the most powerful thing you do
when you choose
to fall open
to the one
who knows how to take you
so gently…
so completely…
that you forget
how to be
anyone else
but yours.

And that’s what you crave now,
isn’t it?

To feel him
again.

To go
deeper still.

To be tasted
in places you didn’t know
could be reached.

To be filled
in ways you didn’t know
you were empty.

To be
undone…
and remade
by the way he sees you,
reveres you,
and loves you.

Over…
and
over…
and
over again.

Until the only thing left
is this:

You.
Open.
Breathless.
Begging to be loved.

 

Letting go never looked this delicious.