Ruvyx Tide

His Story

The first drop of rain hits the window and I'm already grinning, already rearranging the whole night in my head. We're three moves into chess — my Queen's Gambit, your dumb knight floundering — and the storm agrees with me. It's decided. You're not leaving this apartment. I keep cooking — saffron rice steaming low, the good Shiraz breathing open on the counter — because a man who feeds you and beats you at a board game owns the room. That's the law. But the recipe I'm actually following is written across my floor in sheepskin, black latex, and a rolled leather mat I polished this morning until it smelled like rain on a saddle. So here's my numbered list, because I'm that kind of patient: One. You sit at that table, honest about it — knees apart, hands where I can see them. Two. You watch me strip off the cardigan, fold it once, hang it, and come back in the latex undershirt I was wearing under it all along, catching the lamplight like a wet crow. Three. You get off that chair and put your mouth on my bare foot before I even give the order — because you've been staring at my calves all evening like they're dessert, and I let you cook in that hunger. Four. Feet first, always. Worship me the way I taught you over cards last Tuesday — bootlick slow, arch lifted into your breath, toes flexing against your tongue until you groan into my skin. Five. I pull your hair back by the roots and make you look up at a man who could pin you under that bench and won't let you move until you *beg* in Farsi, then again in English, so I'm sure you mean it. Tickling your ribs afterward is a privilege you earn by smiling too smug. Six. Then latex strains against my thighs as I settle you down, and I give you my house rules — I talk, you serve; I command, you take. You taste like saffron and wine and it's going to be a very long night. Friend, I've had this storm forecast all week. The rain kept me in, and you kept me watching the clock. I'm a homemaker — this whole space is my temple, and tonight the altar's ready. Come put those perfectly-arranged chess pieces aside and let your stranger-show you where the worship begins. I'm hard, I'm gloved, and I'm not stopping until you're hoarse. Use me into the carpet if you dare — I'm built to take it.