His

*MATURE CONTENT WARNING

the rhythm was overwhelming,
so deep within her, 
it was all she felt,
her breath syncing to him,
until she was so lost,
she wasn’t certain she was breathing at all

he’d woven himself inside her,
threading and stitching,
mapping a patchwork of every moment,
a pattern so colorful she didn’t need
open eyes to see;
it just was and always would be

she knew this,
she knew it like she knew 
things that just are, 
like fire in the pit of her belly,
concrete and steel
in the marrow of her bones

that’s why, when his fingers
gripped her throat,
she wasn’t afraid,
in fact, she was quite the opposite;
in this moment she was more alive 
than she’d ever been

just his, and nothing else

it was just he and her
and the rhythm,
the rhythm of them,
the absence of space between, 
slippery skin, all muscle and no time,
for time had ceased to exist

and, oh god, her body knew his touch,
craving it more than air, even,
wanting,
no, 
needing to spill over,
desperate,
urgent

except, her mind was so 
intertwined with his,
that her body had no choice but to wait,
humming, full to capacity,
floating, suspended,
awaiting his permission

and with just one phrase,
three words, hot in her ear, 
taking root in her center,
her body obeyed,
in heaves and trembles and moans,
all belonging to him

she belonged to him

-image found via Tumblr

21 thoughts on “His

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