Because being taken is one thing.

That kind of closeness gets into a woman differently.
It makes her feel seen in the most dangerous way.
It makes her aware of every little sound she makes, every breath she loses, every place she goes weak.
And when she realizes you notice all of it, when she realizes you are paying attention to what makes her tremble, to what makes her soften, to what makes her hold on a little tighter, something inside her gives up pretending she is still in control. I gave that up with you. Not because you forced it.
Because you made it feel safe enough to lose. And that is where the obsession lives, I think. Not in chaos.
Not in possession.
Not in loud promises or desperate words. In the quiet after a kiss when a woman is still trembling.
In the way she keeps thinking about the softness that made her feel weak.
In how she lies awake replaying the look in your eyes, wondering if you know what you did to her.
Wondering if you meant to leave that kind of fire in her.
Wondering if you have any idea how hard it is to go back to being untouched after being handled like that. You left something on me that night. Not a mark anyone could see.
Something deeper. A slow burn.
A dark little longing.
A softness that keeps betraying me whenever I think of your hands and the way they never once made me feel afraid. Now that is the part I cannot shake. Not the heat.
Not even the wanting. The fact that beneath all that hunger, you were still gentle. And some women never recover from being desired like that.