Sometimes the movie is the main event. Sometimes it’s the moment he realizes there’s absolutely nothing under my dress. That’s usually when I stop having his attention and start having all of it…

There is something intoxicating about being held like a treasure and wanted like a sin. The way reverence can melt so beautifully into hunger has always fascinated me. One moment I am touched as if I might break, the next I am looked at as if I am the only indulgence worth ruining oneself for

I like desire best when it feels like a private war. All slow stares, sharp chemistry and two bodies pretending they still have a choice in the matter.

Touch is a language I speak in whispers. Come close enough and I’ll teach you what silence really means.

Red lace and slow breathing. Some nights don’t ask to be understood, only to be felt.

Maybe I just want to be looked at the way I’m thinking about being touched. Let’s get undressed and see who breaks first.

Not everything needs to be said out loud. Some things are better demonstrated…

I have impeccable self-control. It’s just not always available…

Just stopping by to contribute something meaningful to society. It’s art, it’s therapy, it’s Titty Tuesday, pick your excuse.

Didn’t drink. Still woke up hungover and aggressively feral. No alcohol involved just my brain waking up horny and choosing chaos before I had coffee.