Yes.

My sentiments on this word haven't changed in the last two years.

The first yes is easy, a single concession to a simple request.

The next comes with some hesitancy, for you begin to understand just how far I plan to take you, and now there is an edge of fear to your acquiescence. But it's too late, the yes is already poised, trembling on your lips, and it slips out with a soft gasp. The next yes follows swiftly after, chasing the second, and the next, and the next, until they become a litany, a cry for more, until the very sound of the word is etched in the devotion of your body.

—

Why do I coax you to speak when I have you in my hands? I want to hear it in your voice.

“Why are you bent over my desk?”

You look back at me, eyes half-closed, “For you.”

“Louder.”

A gasp as my hands tighten on your hips, dragging your naked ass back against me, “For YOU.”

“Yes. For me. For me, you are wet. For me, you are ready to beg. Now say it like you mean it.”

Shivering, a low moan, “FOR YOU!”

“Are you sure?”

“YES, YES, YES.”

—

Just say yes.

Yes, you want to be alive, to remind yourself what it is to experience life by defying it, by stepping over the line and forgetting everything but how it feels to exist between one kiss and the next.

Yes, you want to be owned by a moment.

Yes, you want to be pulled in, to drown yourself in whispers and promises. You want hands that will hold you still, that will coax you to life, that will drive you near the edge and hold you there until it is almost unbearable.

Yes, you want someone who isn’t afraid to take what he wants while giving you what you need.

Yes, you want to sin until you are made into a prayer on his lips.

Yes, you want your wrists held, your breath stolen, your body laid out for a thirst that will drink you in and taste the sweetest parts of you.