Feenin for you
I want you
not gently
but the way storms want to ruin silence.
The way hunger don’t ask for permission.
The way my thighs ache at just the thought
of your voice turning into command.

I’ve been patient.
Sweet.
Innocent enough in daylight
but come night,
my mouth forgets manners
and my body remembers you.

I want you rough.
I want your hands wrapped in my hair
like you’re holding on for answers
between my legs.
I want your teeth on my neck,
your name in my mouth,
and my breath caught in the kind of moan
I can’t control.

Let me say it clear:
I don’t wanna make love tonight.
I want you to **** me
like I’m your secret,
your stress relief,
your favorite vice.

Pin me.
Bite me.
Stretch me out until I forget my name
and only remember yours
grunted in my ear
as you hit the kind of spot
that makes my knees question God.

I want you sliding in slow,
just to tease,
then pulling my hips back
like you mad I ever tried to keep you out.
Let the bed shake.
Let my neighbors judge.
Let my body beg
in that language only your fingers understand.

Put your lips between my thighs
and don’t speak.
Just taste.
Make a mess of me.
Make it sloppy.
Make me curse in tongues
I don’t even speak.

Then flip me.
****** into me like the world’s ending
and you want your name etched in my spine
when it does.

I want my nails in your back,
your hands gripping harder with every moan I feed you,
and when you finish
don’t pull out yet.
Stay there.
Deep.
Let me feel you twitch,
drip,
claim me like a prayer whispered into sweat-soaked skin.

And after?
No words.
Just that smug look on your face
like you know exactly what you did—
and I’d let you do it all over again.
Twice.

Maybe three times,
if your stamina’s as good
as that mouth.