Confession time, darlings. I love playing with fire — especially when it takes the form of a beautiful, submissive Aspen. There’s something intoxicating about watching her unravel under my attention, knowing every breath she steals and every needy little sound is because I allow it.

I start slow. A brush of my fingers. A teasing whisper. A deliberate pause just long enough to make her ache. I don’t rush her — I savor her. I watch the way her body betrays her before her mouth ever does.

Aspen knows this game. She knows I’ll give her exactly what she wants… just not when she asks. The tension builds until she’s restless, pliant, desperate for my approval. That’s when she’s most beautiful.

I let her hover on the edge, tugging her back every time she gets too eager. It isn’t cruelty — it’s craft. Control. The slow burn that makes surrender feel inevitable.

By the time I finally touch her the way she’s been begging for, she’s already mine. Soft. Open. Ready. And I take my time reminding her exactly who she belongs to in that moment.

This fire between us? It’s only getting started.