Hiding from the light

[Moochienanu]

When I think of His hands

Sometimes I swear my body calls for Him—
a low, slow ache that hums beneath my skin,
restless, needy, half-mad with wanting.

I know how His touch begins like a question,
how the answer unfolds in a shiver,
how everything inside me tilts toward yes.

The thought of Him unravels me—
the weight of His gaze,
the promise in His breath against my throat,
the way He lingers where heat gathers.

I need Him near enough to steal my composure,
to trace that thin line between restraint and ruin,
to make me forget every good intention
until all that’s left is the sound of my pulse
and His name caught between my teeth.

Sometimes I think He knows—
how my body betrays me,
how even silence tastes like invitation,
how every breath I take
is already reaching for His.

how I am His.

 

[Moochienanu]

Storm-Touched

Rain drummed low against the windows,
a steady heartbeat the night had loaned us,
and you stood so close behind me
I could feel the warmth of your breath
before it reached my skin.

The storm wrapped the room in silver hush,
and when your fingers brushed my arm—
slow, deliberate—
they traced a line that sparked
all the way down my spine.

I turned just enough
to meet your eyes in the dim light,
the kind that softens every edge
until wanting becomes the only thing
with any shape at all.

You didn’t speak.
You didn’t need to.
Your hands found my hips
with a tenderness that trembled,
as though the rain itself
was guiding your touch,
drawing me closer
inch by impossible inch.

Warmth gathered between us—
a quiet urgency—
and my breath caught
when your lips skimmed my shoulder,
slow enough to savor,
deep enough to undo me.

The world outside blurred to water and shadow,
but here—
in this secret glow of thunderlight—
I melted into the way you held me,
the way your palms mapped my curves
like a story you knew by heart.

Every drop of rain seemed to fall
in time with my pulse,
and the night—
full, heavy, wanting—
pressed us closer
until there was nothing left
but the heat of your touch
and the soft, breathless truth
that I had wanted this
far longer than I could ever say.

And still,
as the storm sang its low, relentless song,
you drew me nearer—
a little more,
and then a little more—
until the whole world
was rain,
and you,
and the space between us
finally giving way.

Happy (a day late) Birthday, Daddy