You should know by now— I will not touch you until your silence trembles for it.

I will not take you until your breath forgets restraint.

I will not own you until you place your heart, unguarded, into the core of my hands.

This— is not a bargain. Not a trade. Not a cage.

It’s a slow unfolding, a promise whispered in pulse and heat— the gravity of one soul daring another to be open.

When I own you, what I want, when I want, how I want, where I want— it will not be command, it will be communion.

Because when you yield, your mind opens— a door unlocked by trust. The world falls quiet. The noise, the weight, all of it—gone.

And in that silence, you are free. Freer than you have ever been.

My rules are not chains, they are rhythm. Your surrender is not loss, it is language. It is art.

And when the wanting softens into the hush of after, there will be hands— not to claim, but to cradle.

There will be breath— not to take, but to steady.

Because after the fire, there must be water. After the claiming, there must be care.

That— is the beauty most forget. The holiness of after, when power gentles into peace, and what was undone is rebuilt— slow, safe, seen.

That’s Own•her•ship. 

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