My balance tips, my body jumping the gun.
As if he injected cocaine into my vein.
I hate the way I react,
hate that I feel anything.
I spin to face him,
but the second we’re face to face,
his fingers dig into my waist,
holding me in place.
My mouth opens,
but nothing comes out.
“Easy now, baby,” he breathes,
slipping his hand inside my panties,
his fingertip falling to my clit.
He presses in soft, then drags,
sick strokes swelling through my nerves.
He knows my body,
built the blueprints,
created the rhythm himself.
Every stroke says,I made this.
Every circle says,still mine.
And my body fucking agrees.
I glance across the desk.
The folder’s open,
papers scattered,
but nothing’s signed.
His breath’s hot against my ear
as he pushes the folder aside,
rubbing my soaked clit at a sinful pace.
My body's done fighting,
my knees give in,
