Description
I’ve been good all week. Soft. Soaked. Waiting. There’s something about midweek… I start to ache. Not for chaos— But for control. Not roughness— But ruin. The kind that looks gentle from the outside, But leaves me trembling on the inside. Would you press your palm over my mouth and ask me how long I’ve been dripping for you Would you be the one to take what’s already yours Come whisper in my ear. I’ll answer with my thighs. —Niagra 🌊
