Hunger It’s not love, not lust, not longing—it’s a fire bene..
🕑 Added 2025-04-24 13:00:29 +0000 UTC
Hunger It’s not love, not lust, not longing—it’s a fire beneath my ribs,a gnawing ache in marrow,a pulse that beats too fast to name.I need hands, need mouths, need heat—fingers tangled in my hair,lips dragging slow over flushed skin,teeth grazing the curve of my throatjust enough to make me gasp,to remind me I am real,that I am here, solid, wanted.I want to be touched like I am burning,like I am something to be consumed,bodies tangled, breathless, frantic—nails raking, hips grinding,moans swallowed between desperate kisses.My body is a battlefield,but I don’t want to fight—I want to be taken, ruined,pinned beneath the weight of now,skin against skin, sweat slick and shivering,to drown the ghosts inside my veins.Let me beg, let me break,let me fall apart under you—trace the edges of me with your tongue,drag me back from the abysswith every thrust, every sigh,every whispered plea against my lips.Take me, claim me, press me down—until I forget the past,until I remember the pleasure in pain,until there is nothing left but sensation,the sharp, sweet sting of being alive.
