ready to be ripped apart.
He opens his mouth,
but only air comes out.
“Come here,” I say,
and he crosses the room,
sinks down to one knee.
I push my fingers through his hair.
“The fuck's goin' on with you?”
He takes my hand.
“I know I got no right. But fuck?—”
The words scrape out honest.
He won’t meet my eyes.
He’s vibrating.
“I miss fuckin’ how I want.
“Y’know—straight dick in cunt.
“Hard. Without rules.”
He shakes his head,
trying to hold himself still.
“I’m losing my fuckin’ mind, Baby.”
Convenient timing, now that Brandon's gone and he's the only one left. As if I’m supposed to meet him halfway to keep him from leaving too.
This isn’t a confession, it’s a threat.
The hunger in his voice isn’t a request,
it’s a fucking countdown.
He’s too starved for his own tastes,
for the violence threaded inside the sex.
If I don’t open the cage,
he’s going to break the lock.
Or walk... which terrifies me more.
The violence I can take.
I’ve survived it before.
