Soft tease

Some invitations aren’t spoken. They’re traced down thighs, caught in parted lips, and offered without mercy.

Permission…

You told me once you wanted me to behave. But you never said what you’d do if I didn’t.

There’s a kind of invitation that’s written between a glance and a smirk — a slow lean across the table, a question asked without words.

I only bite when I’m given permission. But sometimes…I forget to wait.

Before the kiss

It’s not always the kiss that ruins you.

Sometimes, it’s the breath just before it —

that aching, endless pause when your mouths almost meet,

and the world narrows to nothing but hunger.

Sometimes, it’s that fragile, electric second when you know:

if you move even an inch, you won’t be able to stop.

And sometimes,

you don’t.

Softest Corners

There are parts of me I’ve only ever offered in silence.

Little moments — a glance too long, a hand that lingers just a heartbeat past polite. The way I tilt my head when you say my name, giving away more than I should.

You never asked.

You never needed to.

There were things between us that words would have ruined — fragile, shimmering things, stitched from breathless glances and the way your fingers brushed mine under the table, like an accident you both pretended not to notice.

Now, in the quiet hours when the world forgets itself, you find me.

In the hush of half-sleep, when the air is thick with dreams, you’re there — the taste of your mouth ghosting across my lips, the weight of your hand trailing down the small of my back.

You don’t belong to me.

Maybe you never did.

But in the softest corners of my dreams, I still offer you the pieces of me that never learned how to stay silent.

And you…

you still take them without asking.

As if they were always yours to keep.