Letter II: I Won’t Say a Word
My love, You’re an idiot. You know that, right?
The moment you touched me, I became yours. Not because you deserved it— But because I did. Because my body knew what my pride wouldn’t admit.
And that haunts me. The hunger. The memory. It won’t stop until you claim me. Take me. Force me, if that’s what you need. I won’t say a word. I’ll only open.
And when that day comes—
I’ll start with your feet. Not out of submission, but reverence. You’ve walked the world like a king, So I’ll kiss your soles like I worship the ground you conquer. Then higher— Your calves. Your thighs. Until my lips are against the tender inside of you, the place that makes you tense… but I won’t give in. Not yet. You’ll ache before you receive.
I want your hands on my hips—tight, selfish. I want your eyes dark with the need to break me open. And when you finally do, when our mouths meet— I’ll kiss you like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do right.
I’ll make love to you until you beg me to stop. I’ll be your goddess, your punisher, your confessional sin and your redemption.
Come ruin me. Or let me ruin you.
—Yours, still.
