When I’m on top of you, I feel like a goddess—your hands grip my hips, trying to take control, and I take it from you, your breath, your pulse. I move slowly, deeply, guiding myself down to the base, pausing there, then rising, leaving you longing for more so you can feel wanting to return inside me. Every movement of mine is a question, and your answer is the heartbeat you feel against my walls. I feel your heartbeat through you as you enter me, and I know when you’re ready to come—by how your fingers dig into my hips, how your breathing grows ragged, how you stop breathing. And in that moment when you cannot take it anymore, I tighten around you—hard, deep, feeling you pulse inside, feeling you come from my movement, my rhythm, my power. I don’t stop when you come—I keep moving, drawing out every spasm, every drop, until you are empty and trembling beneath me. With me, you don’t just come—you come under my rhythm, and I won’t stop until I’m done with you.
