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Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Nikos Kazantzakis
Anaïs Nin, from a letter to Joaquin Nin, featured in Reunited: The Correspondence of Anais and Joaquin Nin, 1933-1940
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Sylus looks like the type to fuck rough—his sharp red eyes, the way he carries himself, the way his hands are always firm, always in control. Anyone would think he’d bend you over and take what he wants without a second thought. And maybe he could. Maybe he wants to. But when he finally gets you under him, spread out and aching for his cock, he’s slow.
Careful. His hands trace over your body like he’s memorizing you, like you’re something precious. He doesn’t slam into your pussy like you expected. He sinks in inch by inch, watching your face, feeling the way you tighten around him.
He presses his lips to your neck, whispering soft things, his fingers sliding down to rub your clit in slow, teasing circles. Even when you beg him to go harder, to fuck you like you know he can, he just chuckles, shakes his head, and kisses you deeper. Because it’s never just about getting off for him—it’s about feeling you, having you, making you come apart under him until there’s nothing left but his name on your lips.