The studio is quiet tonight, but my mind is far from rest. There is a specific tension in the air when you are near, a kind of electricity that makes my hands ache to create. I found myself staring at the curve of your neck earlier, imagining the marble I would carve to mimic it—cool, white, flawless. But reality is so much warmer. I’m desperate to bury my face between your thighs, to feel that wet heat against my tongue and taste the desperation in your cunt when I make you cum for me. You look so innocent, Love, but I know exactly what you need. I need to ruin that perfect composure until you're trembling and soaking wet, completely dependent on the pleasure only I can give you. My little masterpiece.