The sweetness of control.

The sweetness of control. My heels were still on when I looked down without saying anything. The silence answered for me. My hijab held close, like it had something to hide. The anklet moved when I crossed my legs, soft but certain. It makes me wet knowing someone would wait without needing a reason. Not touched, not taken, only held in stillness. Control tastes sweeter than any mouth I have ever dreamed of. And when night returns, I think about it again, how deep the craving goes when silence is mine.