Hey, you.
Yes—you, the one whose breath just caught reading this.
I see how you linger here in the quiet, heart tapping like rain on a window you won’t open yet.
The way your fingers hover, wanting to trace the words “good girl” on your own skin but pulling back because it feels too loud, too real.
Your secret isn’t hidden, sweet one.
It hums in the flush creeping up your throat,
in the way your thighs shift when you imagine a steady hand pressing your wrists above your head,
in the cinnamon-warm pulse that answers a low, velvet command you’ve only ever heard inside your own head.
You don’t have to say anything tonight.
Just let your lashes flutter once if this is for you.
Let your lips part on a silent breath if you feel seen.
I’m waiting, patient as moonlight on silk.
When you’re ready—whenever that soft, trembling “yes please” finally escapes—
I’ll be right here.
