Craving

She kneels inside darkness,

silk pressed over sunlight eyes.

Leather breathes somewhere near her.

A slow creak.

A measured inhale.

The scent of him wraps around her throat

before his hands ever do.

Satin skims her skin,

soft enough to make her ache for roughness.

Then rope.

Careful.

Certain.

Each pull a quiet command

that leaves her burning to obey.

She cannot see him,

only feel the gravity of him.

The heat of his body.

The low sound he makes

when she shivers for pain instead of fleeing it.

And when it comes,

sharp and beautiful,

she opens like dawn beneath it.

Not broken.

Worshipping.

He keeps her balanced there,

between ache and mercy,

until the sting becomes prayer.

Each strike pulls her further

from the noise inside herself,

grounds her deep in flesh and breath and want.

Nothing exists but leather, heat,

and the tremor in his exhale. 🖤

She worships the pain

for the silence it brings afterward.

For the way it empties her

until she is soft enough to surrender completely.

And he denies her release

until she is trembling with honesty,

until every guarded piece of her

has unraveled beneath his hands,

until she is no longer resisting the fall