Indefinable Belief, Satiate and Submit

Just how hungry am I?

Hungry enough to strip you bare and then clothe you in the firm grip of hands that know the fine places to touch you – the places that make you go weak in the knees while anticipation drives your pulse to race and your skin to tingle. Hungry enough to reveal you layer by layer – removing all pretension and lies until you are completely exposed and yet anonymous in the truth of who and what you are.

Naked, you feel everything.

Hungry enough to see just how far you’ll go to find the edge. To see your boundaries – to push you over with one hand while keeping your head above water with the other. Drown you in heat while giving you breath in kisses that never quite end, but move one into another, on lips, neck, curves.

Hungry enough to whisper of things that you’ve often thought of but never let touch your lips. Hungry enough to make you speak words that burn when spoken but taste like sweet indulgence. Hungry enough to draw out each desire with fingertips that find the most sensitive spots – just behind your knees, the small of your back, the side of your neck; fingertips that write naughty poetry on your thighs; fingertips that speak in a language you have to lose yourself in to understand.

Hungry enough to trap you. Have you ever been caught in a gaze that knows you better then you know yourself? Knows which way you’re going to run? Knows where you are most vulnerable? Knows how to go for your throat – and wants you to know he can. And he waits, until the tension is sharp enough that the delicate coiled heat inside of you can be set off with just one touch, one word.

Hungry enough to teach you what it means to be so bad that it feels good – and reminds you that you are, indeed, *alive*.

How hungry are you?