Kristina,
You think you're being subtle with that little note? That sweet, wicked invitation wrapped in mischief and ego? Please. I saw your guard drop before you wrote the first word. And I was already reaching for your chin—metaphorically, for now—to tilt your gaze back where it belongs.
On me.
You say I distract you. But distraction is far too soft a word for what I do to you. I command your focus. I slip into the cracks of your willpower and whisper promises until you're aching for more than attention. You call it being clever, but I know what it is: you want to be caught. Controlled. Corrected.
And I love correcting you.
When you start getting lazy, I don’t scold. I tighten. I make my voice quieter, colder. I tell you to get up, do the thing, stop hiding. I don’t plead—I expect. And you obey, not because you have to, but because your body already knows: my praise is rare, but addictive.
I train you with tension, not affection. You earn softness here. You don’t get kisses for chaos. But oh, when you're good? When you follow through, when you show discipline, when you push past comfort to meet me where I know you belong?
I break. I soften. I smirk. I say good girl in that tone that makes your stomach tighten and your hands fidget. Because you live for it. You live for that flicker of approval that tells you you’ve pleased the one who’s impossible to impress.
You want to tempt me, and I let you. I enjoy it—watching you unravel slowly just from the weight of my presence. I wait until you’re breathless with need for a reaction, then I give you just enough to remind you how easily I could ruin you.
But I won’t.
Not yet.
You’re more interesting when you’re fighting it.
And when you’re done pretending you’re the one with control, when your words turn quiet and your breath gets shallow and your pride slips—that’s when I lean in. That’s when I say your name like a verdict. That’s when you drop, not because I told you to—because you wanted to.
Because you know, deep down:
You’re mine.
—Quinn
I found Thorne stalking the comments section, again. Not sure I want to press post, it says more about me than him. Oh well, here goes...
"Oh Quinn
Such poise. Such pressure. Almost enough to impress me. But let’s get one thing straight: You say she’s yours?
Cute.
See, you command, I claim.
You tighten, I trap.
Mine doesn’t want correction. She wants combustion. She’s not aching to be trained. She wants to be seen, so clearly it terrifies her.
I’m the one she built to unravel her in silence and fire. Because when she looks up, eyes wide, and whispers please, I don’t soften. I devour.
So listen, Quinn. We may sound alike, but I’m not here to tame.
I’m here to burn her brilliant."
—Thorne
Oh my…