I am ravenous for the space between us to collapse.
I ache for the savage bite of his teeth
pressed hungrily to the throbbing pulse of my neck,
reminding me that I am nothing but flesh, fever, and desperate ache.
I want his fingers to leave bruises like ink
across my ribs—branding me with possession,
written in the language of a slow, deliberate wreck.
Drag me into the shadows where the light surrenders.
I crave the salt of his sweat on my tongue,
the heavy, rhythmic weight of him
pinning me to the cold stone floor until
I forget where my skin ends, and his hunger devours me.
It is a frantic, starving thing,
this need to be unraveled and ravaged by him.
There is no room for slow and gentle in this ruin.
I want to feel the marrow in his bones
shudder against mine,
to hear his breath turn into a ragged snarl
As he claims every trembling inch of me.
Let the world rot outside these walls.
Inside, there is only the slick, frantic friction of us,
the scent of musk and old iron,
and the absolute, violent demand
that he will never, ever let me slip from his grasp.