I watch the way your eyes shift—soft, open, inviting one moment, sharp, hungry the next. I hold your gaze until your smile falters, until your teeth catch your lip, until your heart beats so fast it feels like it wants to escape your chest.
My voice follows.
Soft at first, comforting, almost gentle… until it drops. Lower. Rougher. Dangerous. I feel you react before you even know it—thighs tighten, breath catches, your body leans closer without thought. Every word I speak is both threat and promise, pulling you into my orbit until trembling is the only thing you can do.
One message from me is enough to unravel you. Hours of heat, pulse stuttering, chest aching. Desire pools between us, even when I don’t touch you. I don’t need to. You are already mine in the spaces between words, in the quiet weight of me pressing against you without contact.
This isn’t lust. Not simply desire. It’s older. Fiercer. Ancient, familiar—your soul knew me before your body did. I draw you into a gravity that won’t let go. Escape was never meant to be.
What I offer isn’t want—it’s intensity. Sacred, profane, dark and radiant at the same time. Hunger that doesn’t just brush against your skin, but burrows into your marrow, into your blood, into the architecture of your very being.
It is magic.
The kind that binds you with your own heartbeat.
The kind that whispers, you were always mine.
The kind that does not simply claim,
but erases the memory of freedom itself.
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