A crisis in three words
What is a crisis?
When I’m taking you. Hard. Practically skewering you into my bed. Nothing but your hips absorbing my momentum when I pile-drive into your pussy. And you croon at me, with heavy lidded eyes, a word with each thrust: come. inside. me.
“Come inside me.” We haven’t had *the talk*.
That – is a crisis.
Three Words to undo it all, Three Words to find them. Three Words to bring senses to the edge of release looming behind them.
Woman, are you mad?! The temerity! Do you know my predicament? Every single ounce of my male body, backed by eons of evolution, is primed to claim you with my seed. Not just anyone; *you*! Every act of my love-making is the Feral inside who hungers to tame the Feminine. When I grab your jaw and devour your mouth. When I grasp your hair and bite your neck. When I hold your wrists and fuck your sex. I have chosen you, as you have me. I will mark my possession with swollen lips and bruised thighs.
But for *you* to tell me to mark you! Witch, your invocation stirs deep instinct.