You’re mine because there is nothing that fits between your legs quite as perfectly as my hand. And nothing that makes it feel quite that good.
You’re mine because when that wave of pleasure rockets through your body, you don’t reach for the name of some deity. Your lips form my name, before you can even think.
You’re mine because when you get dressed you always wonder exactly how I’ll strip each part from you, mentally and physically.
You’re mine because who else’s could you be? Who else had the power to have you, has the mind to break you down and build you up, all at the same time. Who else, exactly, can make you feel quite so good?
More importantly, who else can make you feel quite so owned.
(Source: mysubexploration, via mountain-view-dom)
