the cruelest thing about timezones is that she is a girl made for lingering conversations, and the night keeps stealing her from me

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the cruelest thing about timezones is that she is a girl made for lingering conversations, and the night keeps stealing her from me

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she kept hiding her face every time i praised her and it only made me worse.
“baby, look at me.”
and she did. all flushed and overwhelmed and sweet, sitting between my thighs while i talked her through it gently, like devotion was a language only women knew how to speak properly.
Lay down, pretty,
Let me take care of you after this long week you’ve been working so hard.
You deserve a moment of complete ease:
no thinking, no effort, just my voice guiding you.
Don’t concern yourself with directions; I’ll position your body where it needs to be. Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I’m here, and
I’ve got you.
i want her time, her focus, her tenderness, and all the versions of her no one else gets.
being a switch means simultaneously craving praise, control, forehead kisses, and being womanhandled

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jealousy hits me like a switchblade opening.
She above me,
my fingers slipping into her mouth,
deeper and deeper until her breath catches
and a fragile gasp trembles through her throat.
My other arm circles her waist,
holding her close, keeping her there,
while my hips move against her again and again—
unyielding, relentless, a steady rhythm that does not break.
With every motion she drifts a little further from herself:
her body softening, her gaze turning glassy,
a trace of saliva shining on her lips,
as the edges of her sight blur and dim,
as though the world itself were dissolving into haze around her.
You are taking it so well on both sides, precious.
So obedient
So pretty for me
Such a well-trained toy.
i think stars are just holes torn into the sky by women missing each other.