Didn’t Plan to Want Him Like That

I didn’t plan it.
It started as harmless conversation — late nights, low lights, soft laughter leaking through voice notes.
But somehow, my body started reacting before my mind could catch up.
His words lingered longer than they should.
His pauses felt intentional.
And every time he said my name, it landed somewhere deep between my thighs.
I imagined him without permission —
the way his hands would hesitate first,
like he was asking my body a question before touching.
I imagined being pressed into silence, not because I couldn’t speak, but because I didn’t want to.
I wanted to feel.
To melt.
To be undone slowly.
The dangerous part?
He didn’t even try.
That’s how I knew I was already gone.
If you want.

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