Sinful Sunday week 19 prompt

It’s where I go when I can’t face the world: your arms around me, my head ducked under your chin, your breath warm in my hair. My eyes close and I’m there, and it gives me one more layer—armor when life gets a little bit too tough.

You always strip my clothes off when you pull me into your lap. I should feel vulnerable and exposed, and I do, but it’s peaceful, too. Intimate.


I can’t imagine feeling any safer than I do right here. Safe in my vulnerability, because you’re there.

“Breathe, little girl.” You tell me to relax, but it only makes me cling more. To this place that’s my alcove, my harbor in the storm. I know I shouldn’t want to be here, shouldn’t close my eyes and make it so, so real, but I can’t let it go.

I won’t.

No one knows the things you would sacrifice for me. Or the filthy things you would say, the way you’d debauch me when you fuck me like I want to be fucked.

And used.

And owned.

When the proof of our lust runs down my thighs, and I’m a mess of wet and whining and need.

And then you tell me the thing I already know:

“You are mine,” you say. “Even if only in our minds.”

I look at the photo you are looking at too, on a computer screen hundreds of miles away. And I know nothing could be more true.

249 words

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