She tries to resist.
She wants to resist.
Or at least she tells herself so.
But this is not an assault from outside. It is a mutiny from within.
A coup. A rising in her blood. An insurrection in her bones. The rebellion of her skin.
Her desire confronts her. Her hunger weakens her. Her yearning betrays her.
She instructs herself she will not fall. Yet she is falling.
She promises herself she will not submit. But her submission thrills her.
She pretends she is in control, but she has already laid down her arms.
She belongs to him.
But she has not let herself know.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photo stolen from Marrakesh