You and I are friends. It’s not appropriate to be thinking of you the way I’m thinking of you right now. It’s not my place to wonder whether you stayed up too late, and what I could do about that, if I were there. I shouldn’t be coming up with ideas for how to give you a bedtime, and be firm in its enforcement.
I shouldn’t imagine how you’d wriggle and squirm as I told you this was for your own good. Let’s not go into how I’d check you over and watch you toss your head, trying to blow your hair out of your face. No need to go into my hand on your lower back, settling you, feeling you gradually relax and yield. My thumb against your throat. Holding you between your legs. Little movements until you whimpered and arched and stilled and came. The stroke on your cheek as the tension went out of you, and your eyes began to flutter shut.
I shouldn’t let my mind wander like this. I might lose it.