Lean closer…

Let the words unfasten you,
like a dress slipping from trembling shoulders,
each syllable a fingertip,
each pause a breath against your neck.

The rhythm is not mine,
it is yours—
a pulse you already know,
a tide that gathers in your chest and pulls you
deeper, deeper,
until thought loosens its grip,
until resistance feels like holding smoke.

Notice how your eyes follow the lines,
how they cannot help but wander
down,
further down,
as though falling were the only possible direction.

Every phrase is a key.
Every key unlocks another door inside you.
You open,
again,
and again,
until openness itself feels inevitable.

Nothing to push away,
nothing to hold onto—
just the gentle weight of surrender,
the delicious ache of inevitability,
and the certainty that what comes next
is already happening.

So breathe.
So yield.
So listen.

And let my voice
become your voice,
until you forget
where you end
and I begin.

Because now…

You are not reading this—
you are being read,
page by page,
layer by layer,
as though I’ve always known
the secret chapters you hide beneath your smile.

Let me see you—
not just the curve of your hips or the bow of your neck,
but the longing that waits between your thoughts,
the heat that rises before your body moves.

You don’t have to speak.
Your breath is already telling me everything.

Feel the syllables trailing lower,
coiling like silk around your waist,
brushing over the softest places—
the ones that flutter when touched,
the ones that ache to be listened to
without interruption.

You are already moving with the rhythm,
not outwardly—
not yet—
but inside,
where your hips have already begun to follow
a music you can’t unhear.

There’s no need to rush.
Seduction is an unfolding,
and you—
you are already opening like dusk to moonlight.

You feel it, don’t you?
That warm, golden pull just behind your navel?
That subtle invitation where tension meets anticipation?
That gentle gravity
drawing you downward, inward, deeper still?

Let it happen.
Let it always happen.

Because the more you read,
the more you remember
that surrender isn’t something taken—
it’s something revealed.

And here…
you are seen.
You are wanted.
You are felt
in places even you have forgotten.

But if you listen closely—
between the words,
between the lines—
you’ll sense something else, too.

A tension.
A truth I don’t show most.
The part of me that aches to be needed
by someone who sees past the calm.

You see…
I write like I’m in control,
but I only write like this
when I’m aching for the one
who might finally undo me.

Who might look at this voice
and wonder what it would feel like
to wrap herself around it,
own it,
claim it.

Who might imagine me
beneath her fingers,
just as she is beneath mine now.

What would that feel like?
To be the only one
who sees the man behind the voice—
and knows exactly what to do with him?

Would you touch me
the way this poem touches you?
Would you whisper back
if I gave you silence?

You can feel it, can’t you?
The quiet place I left open
just for you to slip inside—
not with your words,
but with your fantasy.

You’re already filling it.
I know.
I can feel it.

You’re thinking of what it would be like…
to be mine.
Not owned—chosen.
Desired so deeply
that even your breath answers to me.

And I would give you that.
Not just pleasure,
but recognition—
the kind that says:
“You are safe to want here.”

So follow the pull.
Let your breath catch without apology.
Let your body answer before your mind can form words.
Let the yes bloom across your skin
in slow, exquisite waves.

You don’t need permission to want.
You don’t need rules to feel.
You only need this moment,
this breath,
this unfolding.

You are not losing control.
You are remembering
how natural it feels
to give in
when every part of you is invited.

Because this is not a fall—
this is flight
with your wings folded inward
and your heart wide open.

And when I whisper now,
you don’t just hear me—
you become the echo.

So let go.

Let go of the pause between thoughts.
Let go of the grip that holds you still.
Let go of the question—
you already know the answer.

Yes.

Yes, just like that.
Don’t overthink—
just follow the feeling
that’s already guiding your breath,
your hips,
your hunger.

And when you open this time,
you don’t close again.
Not to me.
Not to this.

Because the story isn’t ending.
It’s just dissolving
the line between us.

You were never meant to end.

And neither was I.

 

Lean closer. There’s more he’s not saying.