Bloom

I blinked twice and cleared my schedule. Don’t play with me.

Edge. Deny. Repeat.

Lace riding high, legs in the air, and not a single thought in my head except how good it’s gonna feel when you grab my thighs and don’t stop until I forget my name.

Is there an incentive program for sign ups?😉

They say hump day is about “getting over” the hump. Personally, I think it’s about getting under it, on top of it, or just stopping to admire the view. 🍑

My shirt is white, my coffee is strong, my patience for Tuesday is gone.

if the full moon was three nights ago, what could possibly be making you feral today?

Perfect. I want to wear your teeth like jewelry on my skin.

That lip’s mine… between my teeth, bruised until you remember me every time you taste blood.

Make my body your canvas, painted in sweat, bruises, and bite marks as I come apart under your hands.

Peace is easy. I’d rather watch you unravel.

How dare you drop this and expect me to focus on anything else today 😏🔥

I might have enjoyed it several times…. 💋😈🔥

🫠👀💦😮‍💨😈🪓🧎‍♀️

Deleting it won’t erase that from my brain

Sun’s out, attitude’s out.

Trace the curve
Of my thoughts
And there, heat;
Wicked and unafraid

Don’t skim. Read me slow.
Trace every paragraph with your mouth, linger on the parts that make me gasp, and leave your fingerprints on every unfinished thought.

All I can think about is the way your fingers would drag down slow… slower… holding me open like a sentence you’re not ready to finish.

I would be on my knees…
Mouth open. Wet. Needy.
And maybe a little mad you weren’t already using me like you meant it. So please go ahead, ruin my throat before I remember what manners are. 🔥

The problem isn’t focus.
It’s the ache between my thighs and the way your fingers sit like punctuation—a pause before something obscene.

thigh thursday confession:
you could spend hours between them and still not find all the ways they beg to be touched.
soft enough to cradle your face.
strong enough to lock you in.
wet enough to ruin your plans.

Be a giver, then. Give me ruined mascara, teeth marks, and that slow grind that makes me forget my name.