King Me

He kissed like the golden hardware against the thick leather grips on my wrist. Like how Mr. Grey slathered his virgin in 50 Shades. Like that shit my father warned me to stay away from. And Papi, I love it.

Damn, you’re magic! I imagine I’d climb on top of you like a quiet wet dream that bypassed the awful skeletons in your closest. As I posture with my morality, I am drenched in what could have been. I awaken in places I had never known. I say with conviction — you are my male muse.

My equal. He is as whole as the perfect roundabout that is me. The effortless confidence danced between two tongues, as he eluded the places he’d rather be in. My face flushed, but he erratically continued to kiss and bite. The throat-grabbing kinky chemistry that couldn’t be contained — exploded.

Wild composure. Thinking about how I would sex you so vividly — in ways ballet steps failed to forewarn. He dominated our last dispute, luring me in like “I’m the boss of you.” A rarity. The spark, don’t fight it. King, I would bend for you as I do my virtue.