He came to me
like men do,
charming, sure,
but with eyes that didn’t know
how to kneel.
He thought love was polite,
something served with flowers
and hesitation.
But I don’t bloom for men
who need permission
to crave.
I didn’t ask.
I took.
I gave him rules,
not for cruelty,
but for clarity.
Because some hearts
don’t beat
until they’re bound.
He wanted to save me,
but I was never lost.
I’ve walked through my own fire,
and now I light it
for the ones who can stand the heat.
He trembled,
but he stayed.
Let me teach him
how surrender
isn’t weakness
when it’s given, not taken.
In my world,
love has weight.
And I carried him
on the edge of pain and pleasure
until he finally understood:
devotion doesn’t beg,
it offers.
I traced every inch of him
like a map
to a country
that once feared being seen.
He asked why I chose him.
I didn’t.
He earned me
with every soft confession,
every scar he let me kiss
without hiding.
In the silence of rope and silk,
he learned how loud love can be.
And no
I never bent for him.
But he rose for me.
Again and again.
Stronger.
Wilder.
Freer.
He is mine.
Not by leash,
but by choice.
All shades of him,
and not one I feared.
Because in the end,
it was my hands
that taught him how to feel.
