I cringe as you pin my hands to the bed.
I giggle nervously, not because of you,
But the thoughts in my head,
The little voice that tells me what not to do.

It isn’t the shock of your strength
Or your ever growing sensual desire.

It isn’t the smirk on your face
Or the wild delight in your eyes
That pushes us back a pace.

It is the fear and the pain,
And the better judgment
That runs through my brain.
It is my punishment.

I give in as your hand guides itself.
I may smile slightly, but because of you.
My mind begs for help,
But the little voice tells me what to do.

It is the security of your strength
And your ever growing passionate desire.

It the sweetness of your face
And the soft delight in your eyes.
That drives the pace.

It is the love and the lust,
And my need to please
That allows my brain to trust.
It settles my unease.