Monster Island

it's the way it comes out first. that's what gets me every time. small, needy and barely holding together, like you've been swallowing it down for as long as you could and you just…can't anymore. it's not a word you say so much as something that escapes. it cracks right in the middle sometimes. drops into something quieter than a whisper on the last syllable like you ran out of air just saying it. "please mommy." like saying it softly makes it less desperate. like i won't notice exactly how far gone you are just from the shape of it in your mouth.

and i look at you when you say it. really look. because the way you look in that moment is something i want burned into me permanently. flushed all the way down your chest, hair a mess, lip bitten raw from trying to stay quiet for as long as you did. eyes wet. not crying yet, just that glassy overwhelmed look right before everything spills over. and you're looking at me like i'm the only thing in the room. like i'm the only thing that exists. like everything you need is just waiting on whatever comes out of my mouth next.

your hand still moving while you say it. you're not stopping to ask..you're asking while your hips are rolling up into it, chasing something i haven't given you permission to have yet, your body completely ignoring the conversation your mouth is trying to have with me. every small change in pressure makes you twitch. every time you accidentally hit the right spot your whole stomach caves in and this sharp, helpless little sound comes out and your rhythm stutters and you have to rebuild it from scratch. you're working so hard. i can see how hard you're working. thighs shaking, jaw tight, free hand fisting the sheets because you need to hold onto something and you can't hold onto me right now.

the sounds. god, the sounds. it starts as trying to stay quiet…these controlled little exhales, breath coming faster, the occasional bitten-off thing that almost becomes a whimper and then doesn't. and then it stops being controlled. it's never a decision, the moment it stops being controlled. it just happens. the sounds start coming out whether you want them to or not. small. desperate and so vulnerable. whimpering on the exhale.

that's when i have to physically stop myself from just giving it to you immediately.

because the begging does something to me. not just hearing it, but the feeling it. feeling how much you need this. knowing you could just take it, knowing you're close enough that you could tip yourself over without me, and you won't. you won't because you need me to say yes. because it won't feel the same without my voice behind it. because somewhere underneath all that desperation you want to be good more than you want to just have it.

so i make you wait.

i know exactly what i’m doing and i make you wait anyway. i need to hear it one more time. need to see you look at me like that one more time. need to watch you hold on by a thread for just a few more seconds because you trust me enough to.

"say it again."

and you do. voice completely gone, barely any sound coming out, hips still moving, tears finally spilling and you say it again.