A Thank You Letter To My Lover

The ink on this page might as well be your
fingerprints—smudged and insistent, the way you left me last night. I’m writing
this with my thighs still sticky from you, the ghost of your tongue tracing my
thoughts as I try to form coherent sentences. Do you know what you do to me?
How your mouth, that wicked instrument, turns language into something useless?

And your cock—god, the way you wield it like you’re
punishing and worshipping me at once. Last night, when you pushed into me from
behind, my forehead against the cool wall, I swear I saw colors behind my
eyelids. You always know exactly how to drag the pleasure out until I’m
begging, until I’m nothing but a trembling mess of yes and more.

But it’s the way you fill me that undoes me completely. When
you come inside me, hot and thick, I can feel it like a claim, like you’re
marking me from the inside out. I love the way your breath hitches right
before, the way your fingers dig into my hips like you’re afraid I’ll
disappear. You never hold back, and that’s what I crave—the total surrender of
you.

Later, when I licked your spend from my fingers, I couldn’t
help but laugh at how greedy I am for you. You taste like salt and sin, and I’d
drink you down every night if I could. Don’t ever think I take this—take
you—for granted. I’m addicted to the way you ruin me, then put me back together
with your hands and your mouth and your cock.
 
Remember how you pinned my wrists above my head and made me
say it? How you wouldn’t move until I admitted how badly I needed you? The
words tasted like a confession, like something sacred and filthy all at once.
You have this way of turning my pride into something molten, something that
pools between my legs before you’ve even touched me.

And when you finally did touch me—christ, the noise you
dragged out of me wasn’t even human. It’s like you know exactly where I’m most
sensitive, where I’m most vulnerable, and you exploit it mercilessly. You’re a
goddamn artist, and my body is your favorite canvas. Every bruise, every bite,
every mark you leave is a masterpiece I wear with pride.

I still feel you inside me, even now. Not just the stretch
or the ache, but the way you lingered afterward, your breath hot against my
neck as you murmured something low and possessive. You ruin me in the best
ways, and I’d let you do it a thousand times over. Next time, I want you to
make me scream so loud the neighbors remember it.

Do you know how often I replay last night in my head? The
way you dragged your teeth over my hipbone, the way you growled when I arched
into you—like you couldn’t decide whether to devour me or savor me. I hope you
never decide. I hope you keep me suspended in that delicious tension forever.

And your hands—god, your hands. The way they map my body
like you’re memorizing it, like you’re afraid I’ll change shape before you can
commit me to memory. You touch me like you own me, and maybe you do. Maybe
that’s why I melt under them, why I’d let you do anything if it meant feeling
your fingers on me just a little longer.

I woke up this morning with your scent still on my skin, and
I pressed my face into the pillow just to breathe you in. It’s pathetic, isn’t
it? How easily you reduce me to this—a creature of want, of hunger. But I don’t
care. If this is pathetic, then let me be the most pathetic thing you’ve ever
touched.

The sheets are still tangled from where you pinned me down,
and I can’t bring myself to straighten them. They’re proof, aren’t they? Proof
that you were here, that you fucked me so thoroughly I forgot my own name. I
hope they never lose the shape of you. I hope they never stop smelling like us.
 
I’m writing this instead of getting dressed, because what’s
the point of clothes when all I can think about is how quickly you’d peel them
off me? I’m sitting here bare and aching, and it’s your fault. You’ve ruined me
for anything else. Ruined me for anyone else. And the worst part? I’d let you
do it again. I’d beg you to.

So here’s my confession, scrawled in ink that’s as messy as
you left me: I’m yours. Completely. Unapologetically. And if you walk through
that door right now, I’d drop this pen and open my legs without a word. You
don’t even have to ask. You never do.

With all Love ❤️

Jessi ❤️