Page 113 of Unclench Me Softly

I clamp down around nothing, around air, around energy so huge it feels like it could burn through the earth.

He moves over me, still hard, still not done, and slides in again with a groan that sounds like relief and ownership all at once.

“You don’t come until I tell you,” he says into my neck, each word a command and a promise and a brand.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, yes, yes, please.”

He fucks me like he’s building something, each thrust a stone, a spell, a sacred shape I don’t have the language for.

And I hold on.

I hold on longer than I ever have.

My nails dig into his back. My body arches, desperate, begging, but he doesn’t break.

“Almost,” he breathes. “Not yet. I want you to know what it feels like to let go only when it’s safe. When it’s chosen. When it’s earned.”

And when he finally says, “Now,” my body obeys before my mind can even process the permission.

I come hard.

Not pretty. Not poetic.

I shatter.

It rips through me like a scream and a song and a surrender all at once, tears on my cheeks, his name broken on my lips, and the universe cracked open in the space between command and release.

And I realize, submission isn’t a loss. It’s a structure I didn’t know I needed.

And Miles is the goddamn architect.

I finally manage to sit up, the blanket still wrapped around me like the fragile boundary between emotional clarity and complete psychological disintegration.

The dome smells like sex and sandalwood and the lingering presence of too much truth.

I reach for my phone with the trembling reverence of someone contacting the only person who might understand the full scope of what’s just happened.

ME:

i just spiritually married a spreadsheet and almost came seven times, but actually only once, and it felt like a hundred. because miles just reprogrammed me. with structure. and praise kink. please advise.

I stare at the screen.

Re-read it twice.

Then send it.

Because honestly, what else is there to say?

The screen glows in the quiet.

Outside, somewhere, probably, five emotionally unstable men are preparing for a group drum circle or sacred forest nap or something, and I’m here, robe barely on, thighs sticky with enlightenment, wondering how I became the cult leader who forgot to protect her own heart.

And her cervix.

And her Google calendar.

Quotes from the Bliss-isms Bible™ (Deluxe Unclenched Edition)

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