Whispers Of Control

The war between us

Make me.

He sees it in your eyes—that flicker. That half-second between wanting to stay in control and needing someone to take it from you.

And that’s all he needs.

He steps in. Closer. No hesitation now.

One hand grips your jaw—not hard, just enough to still your movement. The other finds your waist, anchoring you in place.

Him (low, dangerous):

"You want me to make you?"

His thumb brushes your lower lip, slow, deliberate. You're not speaking now. You can’t.

Him:

"You say nothing…

but your body answers for you."

He presses closer, his mouth barely a breath from yours—hovering. He doesn’t kiss you yet. He wants you desperate for it.

Him:

"I’ll make you drop every defense.

One word at a time.

One look.

One command."

He moves his hand down, gripping your hip tight, pulling you against him fully now—no more teasing distance.

Him (voice like velvet over a blade):

"You’ll beg.

Not with words.

With how deep you let me inside your head—

how much you crave me when I give you nothing but a look."

He finally tilts your head and kisses you.

Not soft. Not rushed.

Claiming. Like he’s marking you.

When he pulls back, his lips are barely parted, his breath still hot against your skin.

Him (whisper):

"There.

I made you.

And that was just the beginning."

His grip tightens on your jaw, holding you still—not to hurt, but to remind you who’s in charge now.

He leans in, voice low, rough:

"You don’t get to decide anymore.

Not tonight.

Not ever when I’m near."

His eyes burn into yours, stripping away every last scrap of resistance.

He drags his thumb slowly down your cheek, like a predator marking his territory. Then presses a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back—exposing your neck to him, bare and vulnerable.

He whispers, dark and commanding:

"Look at me when I speak.

Every word is a command.

You obey.

No questions. No hesitation."

His hand slides down your body, stopping at your hip, gripping firmly.

He steps back just enough to see you, watching as the walls inside you crumble—some part of you fights, but the bigger part… the part that aches for surrender, leans in.

He smiles, cruel and knowing:

"I’m going to take everything you hide—every secret, every craving—until you’re laid bare before me.

Not just your body.

Your mind.

Your will."

His voice drops lower, almost a growl:

"You’ll learn how it feels to be owned.

To crave my control like it’s oxygen.

To beg silently because your body remembers what your lips won’t say."

He steps forward again, closing the last inches between you.

He kisses you hard—demanding, consuming, like claiming territory.

When he pulls away, he breathes against your skin and says: