exoticeva:

They can talk for hours. About everything and nothing. She loves his voice. The deep timbre that she can feel in her bones. When he is animated, talking fast and telling jokes, she enjoys his energy. His early morning, “hello beautiful” rumble wakes her with a smile. But when their talk turns intimate, when he’s telling her in detail what he’s going to to do her; the dirty, delicious things he has planned, then his voice does something else.

She’s not even sure how to describe it. It goes lower, and the tiniest bit hoarse. Like coarse velvet. It does things to her, that voice. Abrades her nerves, sensitizes her skin. The low, calm tone heightens her desire for him, leaving her wet and aching with want for his possession.

She’s powerless to resist it. So when he says “beg me” she begs, sweetly and then with increasing desperation. When he says “kneel” she drops like a stone. And when he says “good girl” she melts, every single part of her becoming soft and pliable, bent to his will.

She doesn’t know if he does it on purpose, or if, like his dominance it is such an intrinsic part of him that he wields it effortlessly. But when he uses it, it’s a key in the lock of her submission. A rough but tender embrace she could stay in forever.

(p.s. this is one of my absolute favorite images on tumblr. That man has one of the sexiest mouths I’ve ever seen).