You wake up to me kissing you deeply as I play with your cock. Even through the haze of sleep, your hips move, desperate for my hand. You are barely awake but you are saying all the words that I adore.
I want you, deeply, wholly, entirely, in a way that makes every strand of my awareness converge down to this single point: us here in my bed with the bright moon casting shadows in my bedroom as it finds open spaces between and around my curtains. Spaces that I had forgotten existed.
A beam casts a band of light across your chest as I sit up to straddle you. I fasten your collar around your neck.
When I told you that I had shown you parts of myself unseen by anyone else, you spouted some quote about wounds and light. You weren’t pleased when I laughed at you. But I found myself using a paraphrase when you finally decided to let my light in.
You are inside of me, half awake but entirely needy, your wrists pinned and a makeshift gag in your mouth. My clothing shoved in hastily in my desire. You know that you’re my toy, that this is for my pleasure.
I sit up as I release your wrists. The moonbeam returns. I watch your chest rise and fall, watch your breathing grow rapid as I move with greater desperation.
I cannot control myself. And you don’t want me to.