Your fingers slide under silk, bold, greedy, sure, pulling it down inch by inch, slow and pure filth.

Your breath hits my neck, wet, close, and hungry, and I’m already aching, already soaked from waiting. You don’t even kiss, just hover, just own me, goosebumps chasing where your mouth should be.

You grab my hips like you paid for the right, press me back, grind in, make me feel the fight. Your hands roam—rough, low, unapologetic, palming my ass like it’s yours to wreck with.

I moan when you squeeze, when you make me plead, and when you finally take, I swear I come from the need.