**WHAT MY SUBSCRIBERS GET FOR HAVING RENEWAL ON! **
He’s in my kitchen, just in a small slip, confident but a little too eager.
The smell of food fills the room while he pours me a drink like he knows his place already. He hands me the glass. Our fingers touch.
I take a slow sip… and don’t break eye contact. I step closer. Lower my voice.
Tell him to stay right there. The kitchen suddenly feels smaller. Quieter.
Every move he makes is for me now. I guide him—firm, deliberate—letting him feel exactly who’s in control. His confidence melts into hunger, and I take my time with it. By the time we leave the kitchen, the food’s forgotten. The drink untouched. All that’s left is tension, breath, and the kind of passion that doesn’t ask for permission. He didn’t cook for me. He invited me to take over.