I'm not as fragile as you think.
Don't tug my hair. Grab it.
Don't graze your teeth along my skin. Devour me. Bite down until I cry out. Then do it again.
Don't caress my throat. I want to feel your fingers wrap tightly around it. Feel my pulse hammer into your palm. Feel the breath short in my chest and that little bit of panic set in.
Don't nudge my knees apart. Move them like they're yours to spread. With intention. With possession.
Don't hold my hands. I want to feel your strong grip around my wrists. Use all your weight. Make me lie still.
I want it to still hurt tomorrow. I want to see the bruises. The welts. The handprints.
Don't ask me if I'm ok. Tell me I am. I need to let go and not think. I need you to make me yours.
Let my body answer for me with each shudder and moan. With the pool of wetness between my thighs.
These are the things I can't control. I don't want to control. That's the point.