A Study In Hunger

I think about you too much. It’s almost obscene how often you linger beneath my skin, how I carry the thought of you like a sickness, like a fever that refuses to break. You live in my bones, in my breath, in the restless ache between my ribs where something unnamed and unfulfilled gnaws at me like hunger, like devotion, like something I have no choice but to surrender to.

I want you in ways that border on madness. In ways that feel like ruin, like drowning, like pressing my palm against an open flame and whispering more. I don’t just want your hands, your mouth, the weight of you pinning me down, I want your soul inside me, tangled with mine, so deep and so irreversible that I forget what it is to be anything but yours.

I want you to press me against the glass, let the world watch as I fall apart in your hands. Let them see the way my body bends, the way my lips part, the way your name spills from my tongue like an incantation, like a surrender, like the only word I’ll ever need again. I want them to witness what I become beneath you, how my breath stutters, how my fingers clutch, how I cease to be anything but want, anything but this.

I want you to ruin me, not just my body, but the deepest, most sacred parts of me. I want you to carve your name into the marrow of my bones, to sink your teeth into my soul, to leave me aching in ways that no touch could ever soothe. I want to feel you for days, for weeks, for eternity, an ache that festers and lingers and refuses to be erased.

I want you to break me in ways I’ll never heal from. I want to wake up sore, bruised, raw, my thighs trembling as I remember how you took me, how I let you, how I begged you to. I want to wear the evidence of you like a brand, like something irreversible, something I wouldn’t erase even if I could. I want my body to remember you long after you’ve gone, to still shudder at the memory of your hands, to still ache for the places you’ve been.

But it’s not just my body that longs for you, it’s everything. My soul, my breath, the very essence of me. I want to feel your presence in my bloodstream, in the hollow spaces between my ribs, in the quiet, in the chaos, in the moments where I am left alone with the unbearable weight of my desire. I want to crave you in ways that make me reckless, desperate, willing to do anything just to feel you again.

I want you to take me past thought, past reason, past anything that makes sense. I want to forget my own name, to have it erased by the way you whisper mine against my skin, by the way your hands pin me down, by the way your mouth claims me like something you refuse to let slip through your fingers. I want to be taken, to be used, to be devoured by you.

I want to feel your breath hot against my throat, your teeth dragging down my skin, your hands gripping, claiming, tearing me apart. I want to be wrecked by you, reduced to nothing but gasping, trembling need, my body slick and open and desperate for more. Always more. Always you.

I want to drown in you. In your scent, in your taste, in the way your body moves against mine, the way we fit together like something inevitable, like something fated, like something that was always meant to be. I want to feel your pulse against mine, the heat of you searing into me, the slow, torturous build of pleasure that has me clawing at you, sobbing for you, breaking for you.

I want to be lost in you. Not just physically, but in every way that matters. I want to lose myself in your touch, in your voice, in the unbearable heat of your mouth against mine. I want to be stripped bare, undone, exposed in ways that have nothing to do with nudity and everything to do with the way you seeme, the way you own me, the way I collapse into you like something that has found its home at last.

I want to ache for you. I want to suffer for you. I want to live in the exquisite, unbearable need of you. I want to be wrecked. I want to be taken so completely that I forget my own name, forget where I end and you begin, forget everything but the way your body fits against mine, the way your mouth finds my pulse, the way your hands command and I give.

I want you to ruin my balance, make me stumble, make me clutch at you, make me helpless beneath the force of your desire. I want to be overwhelmed, to be undone, to be reduced to nothing but trembling limbs and shattered breath and the way my body knows yours, the way it recognizes you as something vital, something necessary.

And when it’s over, when I am limp and trembling and wrecked, I want to leave you shaking. I want to hear my name torn from your lips like a confession, like a plea, like a prayer whispered against my skin. I want to feel your breath heavy, uneven, your forehead pressed against my body as you struggle to catch the pieces of yourself I shattered. I want to know that you are just as ruined as I am, just as wrecked, just as lost in this as me.

Because I don’t just want your hands on me, I want all of you. Your breath, your soul, your secrets, your sins. I want to know you in ways that no one else ever has, want to unravel you the way you unravel me, want to break you apart and put you back together again in my image, in my name, in my body.

I want to haunt you the way you haunt me. I want you to wake up in the dead of night, your sheets tangled, your body aching, your skin burning with the phantom of my touch. I want to be the ghost in your blood, the echo in your chest, the voice in your head whispering more, more, more.

Because I will never stop wanting you. Never stop needing you. Never stop aching for the way you take me, the way you own me, the way you turn me inside out and leave me gasping for breath.

Take me. Use me. Wreck me.

And never, ever stop.