Do You Want to Check?

I wonder if you know what you do to me. Truly, deeply, wholly. If you see the way my breath changes when you call me yours, the way my fingers hesitate when they should move with certainty. I wonder if you catch the way my lips part, just slightly, like I am always on the verge of saying something but never quite do.

Or maybe you already know. Maybe you watch me unravel in slow motion, piece by piece, moment by moment, knowing that I am yours even in the silence. That I don’t need to say it, because you can feel it, in the way I linger just a little too long when I should walk away. In the way I exhale a little too deeply when you are near. In the way I tilt my head, soft, questioning, waiting.

Waiting for you to notice.

I wear innocence well, don’t I? I have the kind of eyes that tell stories of purity, of quiet, of something untouched. But you—you know better. You know what lingers beneath that softness. You know that innocence is not the absence of desire, but the most tempting disguise it could ever wear. And I wear it for you.

Because it makes the game sweeter.

I think of you when the night is quiet, when the world slows, when my thoughts are free to wander without the weight of the day pressing down on them. I think of the way you look at me, the way your gaze changes like the shifting of the tide. The way you try to be careful, as if I am something fragile, as if I might break. But we both know better, don’t we?

I am not fragile.

I am silk and fire, softness and heat, sweetness laced with something just dangerous enough to make you hesitate. I am everything they don’t see when they look at me, everything you do see when you do. And I wonder if that is why you are always holding back, always watching but never quite reaching. If you are afraid that once you touch, you will never stop. That once you start, there will be no going back.

And maybe you’re right. Maybe we are something that should be measured in restraint, in patience, in aching pauses that make the moment stretch longer than it should. Maybe that is part of the beauty, part of the reason why my heart races even when you haven’t said a word. Why my skin feels like it’s burning even when you haven’t touched me.

Because I know you want to.

You know, I’ve picked something special. Something soft, something delicate. Something in the color you love. It clings in the right places, falls in others, a whisper of fabric against skin. And I wonder if you would like it. If you would let your gaze linger just a little longer than you should. If you would notice the way my fingers skim against it, absentmindedly, as if testing the texture, as if thinking about something I won’t say out loud.

Do you want to check?

You know what it means. You know it isn’t just a question, not really. It is an invitation, a confession, a challenge wrapped in the softest of words. It is a door left ajar, waiting for you to decide if you will step through it. It is me, standing here, waiting, knowing that you are fighting a battle you will eventually lose.

Because you will lose, won’t you?

You always do, in the end.

I smile, just a little, just enough to let you see that I know. That I see the way your fingers twitch, the way your jaw tightens, the way you exhale just a little too slowly. You think you’re in control, but we both know it’s slipping. We both know that you are already halfway to surrender. That my voice, my eyes, my very presence is pulling you under, inch by inch, moment by moment.

And I like watching you fight it.

I take a step closer, just enough for the air between us to shift. Just enough for the warmth of my skin to reach yours. I tilt my head, eyes wide, curious, innocent in the way that is anything but. And I say it again, softer this time, almost like a secret meant only for you.

Do you want to check?

The night stretches long, heavy with something unspoken. The air hums between us, charged, waiting. And you, my love, are standing on the edge of something dangerous. Something beautiful. Something inevitable.

I see the way you breathe, the way your fingers flex as if they are already reaching before you can stop them. I see the battle in your eyes, the push and pull, the war between what is right and what is inevitable. And I wonder if you will surrender this time. If you will let yourself fall.

Or if I will have to ask again.

The thought makes me smile, because I know you. I know you better than you know yourself. And I know that no matter how long you fight it, no matter how much you pretend, in the end, you will always do the same thing.

You will always lose.

And I will always win.

Neta.