Possession is….
A fingertip on a shoulder, a warm breath in a neck, fingers twisting a lock of hair, a nail moving slowly up an arm, a whispered word, an arm brushing past a nipple, a thumb brushing down a spine, to that spot. Yes. That one.
Possession is a wink across the room, a raised eyebrow, a soundless word, a gentle smile, an evil grin, the motion of a hand, a simple understanding that rarely needs restating in any obvious way.
A state of mind, possessed, deliciously so in every way. On both sides. The beauty of two-way traffic, give and take. Mind and body. Gentle and brutal. Every shade of the spectrum covered.
Because sometimes possession is a different hand. A firm, uncompromising grasp. Flesh not caressed, but explored, probed, taken. No questions, no hesitation. Knowing fingers posting a reminder. “Mine.”
Oh yes, possessed, and it will show, or should I say be felt. One swift hand, one whispered word. They mean so much more.
.
© M. / Her Liege – image: source information welcome.
[Reclaiming MY words. Leave image and words intact.]
What is it like, someone asked me recently. Here’s a glimpse.
Still MY words, still looking for the image source, by the way.
