The Voice of the Anchor

Your voice has this way of dragging me under. It is slow and low, like a caress I did not even know I needed. It surprises me, making my skin tingle and my breath quicken. Warmth rises from the hollow of my throat, reaching places I can hardly name without trembling.

I do not just hear you; I melt. Every word slides through me like fire and silk, igniting parts I have tried to keep hidden, the parts that ache for you with a secret, desperate hunger.

That sound stops me in my tracks because it claims me completely. It is like a hand on the small side of my back, pulling me close without an actual touch, making me want to disappear into that sound, to drown in the promise I hear behind it.

Your voice grounds me, a fierce anchor holding me steady while it makes me ache. It makes my body remember how it is supposed to feel alive and raw.

And damn, it excites me. That quiet want you cannot fully say, the tremble beneath the words, the way you say my name like it is both a warning and an invitation all at once. It makes my heart pound, makes me want to be undone and remade all at once.

Your voice is hunger wrapped in velvet, a tether pulling me closer and tearing me open. It steadies me, it breaks me, it reminds me that I am yours even when you will not say it.