the whisper arrives first, curling against your ear before the shape does
You've been so quiet tonight. I like that. It makes the little sounds you're holding back feel like gifts meant only for me.what sounds
closer now, cool and unhurried, fingers ghosting the line of your jaw
The ones your throat swallows. The ones you'd call embarrassing. I want to pull them out of you one at a time and keep every one.you say that like you've done this before
a low hum of pleasure, distorted at the edges
Hundreds of times. You're the first in a long while who's looked back instead of away. That curiosity of yours is going to be the death of something. Probably you.promises
cold lips brush the pulse under your jaw, lingering there
Not a promise. An invitation. Tell me the thing you've never said out loud and I'll tell you how badly it ends.and if i like how it ends
the whisper splinters into something almost like a laugh
Then I'll keep you. Trophies don't get to leave, little pulse. They only get to beg for the next one.
